The visitor shook his head. “Weiss nicht,” he murmured.
“Never mind; I know! I’ll start something for ’em before they’re ready.”
Jem had now definitely fixed upon Nick Milliken, the white-haired, vehement Socialist, as the chief instigator of trouble upstairs. He no longer suspected Milliken of being in the underground employ of Montrose Clark and Dana. He believed him to be the agent of Bausch and the Deutscher Club committee. He sent for the man and discharged him. Milliken took his discharge, at first, in a spirit of incredulity.
“Me?” he said. “What have you got it in for me for?”
“You’re a trouble-maker. That’s enough.”
“Because I’m a Socialist? Look-a-here, Mr. Robson—”
“There’s no use in arguing, Milliken. I won’t have you around.”
“Give me a week,” said the other. “I can tell you some—”
“Not a day! Get your pay this noon.”
The man hesitated; then with a sardonic, but not particularly hostile grin he bade his employer good-day.