plutocrats. Kelly belonged to the old school of boss, dating
from the days when social organization was in the early stages,
when the political organizer was feared and even served by the
industrial organizer, the embryo plutocrats. He realized how
necessary he was to his plutocratic master, and he made that
master treat him almost as an equal. He was exacting ever larger
pay for taking care of the voters and keeping them fooled; he was
getting rich, and had as yet vague aspirations to respectability
and fashion. He had stopped drinking, had ``cut out the women,''
had made a beginning toward a less inelegant way of speaking the
language. His view of life was what is called cynical. That is,
he regarded himself as morally the equal of the respectable
rulers of society--or of the preachers who attended to the
religious part of the grand industry of ``keeping the cow quiet
while it was being milked.''

But Mr. Kelly was explaining to Martin Hastings what he meant
when he said that there was ``hell to pay'':

``That infernal little cuss, Victor Dorn,'' said he ``made a
speech in the Court House Square to-day. Of course, none of the
decent papers--and they're all decent except his'n--will publish
any of it. Still, there was about a thousand people there before
he got through--and the thing'll spread.''

``Speech?--what about?'' said Hastings. ``He's always shooting
off his mouth. He'd better stop talking and go to work at some
honest business.''

``He's got on to the fact that this strike is a put-up job--that