Even Kirby's declaration that the ridiculous strike be a failure, and
that the government would assuredly punish any damage done to the Cabell
property, did not serve to impress him. Najib was a Syrian. An idea once
firm-rooted in his mind, was loathe to let itself be torn thence by mere
words. Kirby waxed desperate.

"You have wrecked this whole thing!" he stormed. "You got an idiotically
wrong slant on what I told you about strikes to-day; and you have ruined
us all. Even if you should go down there to the quarters this minute and
tell the men that you were mistaken and that the strike is off--you know
they wouldn't believe you. And you know they would go straight ahead
with the thing. That's the Oriental of it. They'd refuse to go on
working. And our shipments wouldn't be delivered. None of the ore for
the next shipments would be mined. The men would just hang about,
peacefully waiting for the double pay and the half time that you've
promised them."

"Of an assuredly, that is true, howadji," conceded Najib. "They would--"

"They _will_!" corrected Kirby with grim hopelessness.

"But soon Cabell Effendi will reply to your letter," went on Najib. "And
then the double paying--"

"To my letter!" mocked the raging Kirby.

Then he paused, a sudden inspiration smiting him.

"Najib," he continued after a minute of concentrated thought, "you have