“You can boil a kettle too hard,” he said, “and then the lid pops off. Doyle and that outfit of his have been burning the fire a little high, that's all. They'll quit now, because they want to get us off guard later. You and your committee can take a vacation, unless you can set them to electioneering for me. They've had enough for a while, the devils. They'll wait now for Akers to get in and make things easy for them. Mind my words, boy. That's the game.” And the game it seemed to be. Small violations of order still occurred, but no big ones. To the headquarters in the Denslow Bank came an increasing volume of information, to be duly docketed and filed. Some of it was valueless. Now and then there came in something worth following up. Thus one night Pink and a picked band, following a vague clew, went in automobiles to the state borderline, and held up and captured two trucks loaded with whiskey and destined for Friendship and Baxter. He reported to Willy Cameron late that night. “Smashed it all up and spilled it in the road,” he said. “Hurt like sin to do it, though. Felt like the fellow who shot the last passenger pigeon.” But if the situation in the city was that of armed neutrality, in the Boyd house things were rapidly approaching a climax, and that through Dan. He was on edge, constantly to be placated and watched. The strike was on his nerves; he felt his position keenly, resented Willy Cameron supporting the family, and had developed a curious jealousy of his mother's affection for him. Toward Edith his suspicions had now become certainty, and an open break came on an evening when she said that she felt able to go to work again. They were at the table, and Ellen was moving to and from the kitchen, carrying in the meal. Her utmost thrift could not make it other than scanty, and finally Dan pushed his plate away. “Going back to work, are you?” he sneered. “And how long do you think you'll be able to work?” “You keep quiet,” Edith flared at him. “I'm going to work. That's all you need to know. I can't sit here and let a man who doesn't belong to us provide every bite we eat, if you can.” Willy Cameron got up and closed the door, for Mrs. Boyd an uncanny ability to hear much that went on below. “Now,” he said when he came back, “we might as well have this out. Dan has a right to be told, Edith, and he can help us plan something.” He turned to Dan. “It must be kept from your mother, Dan.” “Plan something!” Dan snarled. “I know what to plan, all right. I'll find the--” he broke into foul, furious language, but suddenly Willy Cameron rose, and there was something threatening in his eyes. “I know who it is,” Dan said, more quietly, “and he's got to marry her, or I'll kill him.” “You know, do you? Well, you don't,” Edith said, “and I won't marry him anyhow.”