The visitor shook his head. “Weiss nicht,” he murmured. “Never mind; I know! I’ll start something for ’em before they’re ready.” Jem had now definitely fixed upon Nick Milliken, the white-haired, vehement Socialist, as the chief instigator of trouble upstairs. He no longer suspected Milliken of being in the underground employ of Montrose Clark and Dana. He believed him to be the agent of Bausch and the Deutscher Club committee. He sent for the man and discharged him. Milliken took his discharge, at first, in a spirit of incredulity. “Me?” he said. “What have you got it in for me for?” “You’re a trouble-maker. That’s enough.” “Because I’m a Socialist? Look-a-here, Mr. Robson--” “There’s no use in arguing, Milliken. I won’t have you around.” “Give me a week,” said the other. “I can tell you some--” “Not a day! Get your pay this noon.” The man hesitated; then with a sardonic, but not particularly hostile grin he bade his employer good-day. “Now for the strike!” said Jeremy to Andy Galpin. But the strike did not come. Evidently the manipulators in the background would bide their own time. CHAPTER XVII BEHOLD, now, Miss Marcia Ames, conspiratress, seated in the depths of the Boot & Shoe Infirmary, deep in converse with Dr. Eli Wade, Surgeon of Soles and Healer of Leather. Opinion was always to be had at the Sign of the Big Shoe; often information; sometimes wisdom. Miss Ames was seeking light upon her problem wherever she might find it. Her scheme for Magnus Laurens had been successful; that in which Montrose Clark was to have played the Beneficent Influence, had prospered in part; yet The Guardian’s downhill pace had been only mitigated, not checked. Methods more radical must be found. Eli Wade proved at least a friendly, if not a broad-visioned consultant. “A fighter, thet young man is,” said Eli Wade. “He don’t go stumblin’, any more. Straight, he goes. And if he falls at the end, it’ll be in the best fight any man ever made in this town against a gang of snakes and traitors.” “But he must not fall, Eli!” cried the girl. “We must not let him fall.” “Ah! Thet’s the talk! If them as had oughta stood by him had done so, he’d be all right to-day.” “Who? Why have they failed him? Is it that they do not understand?” “Blind,” said Eli Wade. “They don’t see. They’re millin’ round wherever the Germans and the slick politicians drive ’em. If ever I was fooled in a pair o’ shoes it was them Number Eights of ‘Smilin’ Mart’ Embree’s.” “But your kind of people, Eli! Simple, straight, honest people. Why would they not stand by The Guardian?” “Bless your soul! They do. They’re solid. It’s the advertisers thet are trippin’ up his feet.” “So Mr. Galpin says. The stores.” “Yes. The stores support the newspapers with their advertising, an’ so they rule or ruin ’em.” “When have they ruled The Guardian?”