"Rockwell, that'd do me a lot of harm if it was published. Don't say it
again. This is a democratic country. They'd kick at my being called
master of anything, and I'd have to tell a lie to counteract it."

"But it's the truth, and it hasn't to be overtaken."

A grim look came into Ingolby's face. "I'd like to be master-boss of
life and death, holder of the sword and balances, the Sultan, here just
for one week. I'd change some things. I'd gag some people that are
doing terrible harm. It's a real bad business. The scratch-your-face
period is over, and we're in the cut-your-throat epoch."

Rockwell nodded assent, opened the paper again, and pointed to a column.
"I expect you haven't seen that. To my mind, in the present state of
things, it's dynamite."

Ingolby read the column hastily. It was the report of a sermon delivered
the evening before by the Rev. Reuben Tripple, the evangelical minister
of Lebanon. It was a paean of the Scriptures accompanied by a crazy
charge that the Roman Church forbade the reading of the Bible. It had
a tirade also about the Scarlet Woman and Popish idolatry.

Ingolby made a savage gesture. "The insatiable Christian beast!" he
growled in anger. "There's no telling what this may do. You know what
those fellows are over in Manitou. The place is full of them going to
the woods, besides the toughs at the mills and in the taverns. They're
not psalm-singing, and they don't keep the Ten Commandments, but they're
savagely fanatical, and--"

"And there's the funeral of an Orangeman tomorrow. The Orange Lodge