"You have!" burst out the editor of the F. P. leaflets in an intense
whisper. "No! And are you really handing it over at large like this,
for the asking, to the first fool that comes along?"

"Just so! The condemned social order has not been built up on paper and
ink, and I don't fancy that a combination of paper and ink will ever put
an end to it, whatever you may think. Yes, I would give the stuff with
both hands to every man, woman, or fool that likes to come along. I know
what you are thinking about. But I am not taking my cue from the Red
Committee. I would see you all hounded out of here, or arrested--or
beheaded for that matter--without turning a hair. What happens to us as
individuals is not of the least consequence."

He spoke carelessly, without heat, almost without feeling, and Ossipon,
secretly much affected, tried to copy this detachment.

"If the police here knew their business they would shoot you full of
holes with revolvers, or else try to sand-bag you from behind in broad
daylight."

The little man seemed already to have considered that point of view in
his dispassionate self-confident manner.

"Yes," he assented with the utmost readiness. "But for that they would
have to face their own institutions. Do you see? That requires uncommon
grit. Grit of a special kind."

Ossipon blinked.