"I have. Get busy! Tell them to watch. On next Monday begins the greatest revolution in advertising this country ever experienced. We are making history! Pledge them to advertise through us, if we deliver the goods. It will be the only swell way. Get that?" "Betcherlife!" And Mr. Andrew Barrett rushed off. VII H. R. went out to have his boards made. He distributed orders among wood-carvers and plaster-casting ateliers, and devised a method by which boards could be made on the principle of stereotypers' matrices, only the letters were raised. He pledged the makers to deliver the boards within twenty-four hours, and as he did not haggle over the price by the simple expedient of not asking for it, they promised. When a man is permitted to fix his own profit he will do anything except go to church. At seven sharp, accompanied by Andrew Barrett, H. R. went to Caspar Weinpusslacher's. He could not get a seat. People stood in dozens, waiting for the early dinner to finish. And most of the waiting customers were fashionably dressed. The Colossal Restaurant had become a fad. Caspar greeted H. R. with respect. He did not yet feel strong enough to display ingratitude. "I'll fix a special table, Mr. Rutchers," he said. H. R. nodded assent and then sought Fleming. At the longest table sat twenty-seven unionized artists. "Are you getting the full thirty-cent dinner?" he asked, paternally. "Yes, sir," Fleming hastily assured him. H. R. looked at his men. They looked away uneasily. Was this to be their last free meal? H. R. turned to Andrew Barrett and said in a voice that did not reach the members and therefore increased their uneasiness: "Barrett, in unionizing these men, thereby making them free sandwiches, I had in mind several things; one of them was the absolute control of the New York papers." "How?" asked Barrett in utter non-comprehension. "By organizing my men into a Public Sentiment Corps. Their duty will be to write letters to the newspapers. I figure that one bona-fide letter to each thirteen thousand one hundred and eighty-six circulation creates an irresistible demand. The _Evening Post_, of course, needs about one to five hundred readers. I think eleven letters will be enough there. Our men already have names, and hereafter they will have permanent addresses." "And then?" "I furnish the paper, the stamps, and the literature. The men copy the letters. The newspapers will do the rest. Did you bring the pads and pencils I told you?" "Yes." "Pass 'em around, one to each man." Barrett did so. The men edged away in ill-concealed terror. "Take up the pencils!" commanded H. R. The members acted as if the pencils were rattlesnakes. "Did you hear me?" asked H. R., calmly. They trembled. But they were not slaves. No man can be compelled to write in a free country. By feeding these men H. R. had given them the courage to refuse to obey him! Was the food an error, as charitable philosophers have declared?