She looked at the picture, carefully spelling out the words of the headlines with heavy lips and deep irregular breaths. “Did you see him last night?” she asked when her eye finally got to the small print where it stopped, as though halted by a dense jungle. “Yes. As a matter of fact, I did.” “He sure gave it to them bastards, didn’t he?” Her face lit up joyously; I thought of _ça ira_. “You mean the clergy?” “That’s just what I mean. They had it too good, too long. People afraid to say anything. Takes somebody like him to tell us what we know and tell _them_ where to head-in.” “Do you like what he said about dying?” “About there being nothing? Why, hell, mister, I knew it all along.” “But it’s good to hear someone else say it?” “Don’t do no harm.” She belched softly. “I expect they’re going to be on his tail,” she added with gloomy pleasure, spearing a fragment of eclair which she had missed on her first circuit of her crowded dish. I spent that morning in the street buying newspapers, eavesdropping. I heard several arguments about Cave: the religiously orthodox were outraged but clearly interested; the others were triumphant though all seemed to feel that _they_, as the automat woman had said, would soon be on his tail. Ours was no longer a country where the nonconformist could escape disaster if he unwisely showed a strange face to the multitude. I tried to telephone Iris and then Clarissa but both telephones were reported busy; I called the office but was told by a mechanical voice that if I left my name and address and business Mr. Himmell would call me as soon as possible. The siege had begun. I arrived at the Empire State Building half an hour before the meeting was to begin, hoping to find out in advance from Paul what was happening and what we were supposed to do about it. A picket line marched up and down before the entrance, waving banners, denouncing Cave and all his works in the names of various religious groups. A crowd was beginning to gather and the police, at least a score, moved frantically about, not knowing how to keep the mob out of the building. When I stepped off the elevator at Cave’s floor, I found myself a part of a loud and confused mass of men and women all shoving toward the door which was marked Cavite, Inc. Policemen barred their way. Long before I’d got to the door, a woman’s shoe went hurtling through the air, smashing a hole in the frosted glass. One policeman cocked his revolver menacingly. Another shouted, “Get the riot squad!” But still the crowd raved and shouted and quarreled. Some wanted to lynch Cave in the name of the Lamb, while others begged to be allowed to touch him, just once. I got to the door at last, thanks to a sudden shove which landed me with a crash into a policeman. He gasped and then, snarling, raised his club. “Business!” I shouted with what breath was left me. “Got business here. Director.”