The band-master, being a native-born, repeated the price--unchanged. But he was no match for H. Rutgers, who took a card from his pocket, looked at what the band-master imagined was a list of addresses of other bands, and then said, "Let me see; from here to--" He pulled out his watch and muttered to himself, but audible by the band-master, "It will take me half an hour or more." H. Rutgers closed his watch with a sharp and angry snap and then determinedly named a sum exactly two-thirds of what the band-master had fixed as the irreducible minimum. It was more than Hendrik could possibly pay. The band-master shook his head, so H. Rutgers said, irascibly: "For Heaven's sake, quit talking. I'm nearly crazy with the arrangements. Do you think you're the only band in New York or that I never hired one before? Here's the Mayor's permit." He showed it to the musical director, who was thereby enabled to see _National Street Advertising Men's Association_, and went on: "Now be at Grand Central Station, Lexington Avenue entrance, at 3.45 Saturday afternoon. The train gets in at 4. I'll be there before you are. We'll go from the depot to Weinpusslacher's for dinner." "Of course, we get our dinners," said the band-master in the tone of voice of a man who has surrendered, but denies it to the reporters. "Yes. You'll be there sure?" "Yes. But, say, we ought to get--" "Not a damned cent more," said H. Rutgers, pugnaciously, in order to forestall requests for part payment in advance. "I wasn't going to ask you for more money, but for a few--" "Then why waste my time? Don't fail me!" Then Hendrik Rutgers put the finishing touches on the work of organization. He rented offices in the Allied Arts Building, sent a sign-painter to decorate the ground-glass doors, and ordered some official stationery in a rush. He promised the agent to return with the president and sign the lease. Where everybody distrusts everybody else there is nothing like promising to sign documents! He bought some office furniture on exactly the same plan. On Friday night the unionized sandwich-men took their signs and boards to the trysting-place, Twenty-ninth Street and Ninth Avenue, to have new advertisements of Hendrik's composition painted thereon. The boards did not belong to the members, but in a good cause all property is the cause's. Each of the original fourteen brought recruits. The street was almost blocked. The two sign-painters worked like nine beavers, and Hendrik and the young man in steel-rimmed spectacles helped. When the clamor became threatening Hendrik counted his men twice, aloud. There were eighty-four of them. They knew it was eighty-four, having heard him say it, as he intended they should. He then took them to the corner boozery. He had only two dollars. There were eighty-four thirsty. Therefore, "Eighty beers!" he yelled, majestically. "_Eighty-four!_" shouted eighty-four voices.