"You're fond of historical allusions," chided the practical man. "Always the literary man, always the dreamer. This girl is a disturber. She'll unsettle business." "Ah, there you are. 'Unsettles business.' Did it ever strike you business men that you take yourselves too damn seriously? Any movement, any agitation that 'unsettles business' is ipse facto wrong. You business men have had a hand in the martyring of most of the saints and all of the reformers since time began. And, invariably, you are wrong. Why, you're wrong even about yourselves. You firmly believe that the foundations of the country rest upon you. As a matter of fact, not one per cent of you are producers. You're middlemen, profit shavers, parasites." "My dear fellow," asked his friend, "where would you be if business men--publishers--didn't buy your wares?" "Ha," answered the writer, "and where would the publishers be if I and others didn't produce the wares to market? It won't do. The reason the newspapers and magazines of this country are so bad is because most of the publishers are not newspaper men and magazine writers, but merely business men." "Well, I suppose your Joan of Arc will have to have her fling. Then life will swing back to its same old channels and we'll forget her." "Yes, she will have her fling and perhaps we'll forget her, but life will not swing back to the same old channel. She'll make a new channel, forgotten though she may be, and it will be a better channel." * * * * * Captain Shammer of the Eighth police district read Mary Randall's open letter through slowly and carefully. When he had finished he lighted a long black cigar from a box that had been sent him by a world famous confidence man. He smoked thoughtfully for some time. Then he put out a heavy hand and, without looking, pressed a white button at the side of his desk. A sharp-eyed young man opened the captain's door. "Nick," said the captain, "shut that door a minute and come over here." He pointed to the black newspaper headline. "Get that?" he demanded. "Sure, first thing this morning, Captain." "Well?" "We should worry." Captain Shammer rolled his cigar in his mouth. He wasn't exactly satisfied with the answer. "All right," he agreed finally, "but Nick--" "Yes, Captain." Nick paused alertly, one hand on the door knob. "Easy for a while until we see how things break on this." "Aye, aye, sir!" "Curtains drawn, you know, and back rooms quiet. Tell the girls to go slow on the piano playing. Did Ike, the dip, come across?" "Not yet, Captain." "Pinch him today and give him the cooler. Get me?" "It's done, cap." "Close in on the stuss games. Pass the word to go easy." "I get you." "Mary Randall, eh?" asked Captain Shammer of vacancy when his aid had gone. "Mary Randall! Well, Mary, you sure have got your nerve with you."