Incorporated, even more than the circuit of the immense plant had
done.

Five thousand men, in a newspaper paragraph, do not affect the
imagination. Five thousand men in the concrete are quite another
matter, especially if you suddenly realize that each of them has a
wife, probably children, and that the whole are dependent upon the
dynasty of which you are a member for their daily bread.

"Father and I," he said to himself, as the sudden shock of the idea
impacted against his consciousness, "are SUPPORTING that whole mob."

It gave him a sense of mightiness. It presented itself to him in that
instant that he was not a mere business man, no mere manufacturer,
but a commander of men--more than that, a lord over the destinies of
men. It was overwhelming. This realization of his potency made him
gasp. Bonbright was very young.

He turned, to be carried on by the current. Presently it was choked.
A stagnant pool of humanity formed around some center, pressing
toward it curiously. This center was a tiny park, about which the
street divided, and the center was a man standing on a barrel by the
side of a sign painted on cloth. The man was speaking in a loud,
clear voice, which was able to make itself perfectly audible even to
Bonbright on the extreme edge of the mass.

"You are helpless as individuals," the man was saying. "If one of you
has a grievance, what can he do?... Nothing. You are a flock of
sheep. ... If ALL of you have a grievance, what can you do? You are
still a pack of sheep. ... Bonbright Foote, Incorporated, owns you,