"Organised labour," he thundered, "has found itself, because we are at war, all powerful. We depend on the organised workers, and they know it. The lives of our men are at stake. . . . Their brothers, mark you, Vane. What do they care? Not a dam, sir, not a dam. More money, money--that's all they want. They know the State won't dare a lock-out--and they trade on it. . . . Why don't they conscript 'em, sir?--why don't they put the whole cursed crowd into khaki? Then if they strike send 'em over into the trenches as I said, and let 'em rot there. That would soon bring 'em to their senses. . . ." Sir James attacked his chicken viciously. "What's going to happen," he went on after a moment, "when we return to peace conditions? The private employer can't pay these inflated wages. . . . He simply can't do it, and that's an end of it. But now, of necessity it's been a case of surrender--surrender--surrender to any demands the blackguards like to put up. And they've got it each time. Do you suppose they're going to stop?" "But surely there's such a thing as common sense," interrupted Vane. "Surely the matter can be put in front of them so that they will understand? . . . If not, it's a pretty useful confession of ineptitude." Sir James laughed shortly. "There are several floating round at the moment. . . . But it isn't quite as easy as all that, my dear fellow. In times of unrest power comes automatically more and more into the hands of the man who can talk; men like Ramage, and others of his kidney. A few meaningless but high flown phrases; a few such parrot cries as 'Down with the Capitalist and the Future is for the Worker,' and you've got even the steadiest man unsettled. . . . Especially if he's one of a crowd; mob psychology is the devil. . . ." Sir James paused and stared out of the window. "I don't fear for the decent fellow in the long run; it's in the early stages he may get blown. . . ." "What are you two men talking about so busily?" Aunt Jane once again presented her trumpet to Vane. "Labour trouble, Miss Devereux," he roared. "Trouble in the labour market." The old lady's face set grimly. "My convictions on that are well known," she boomed. "Put them in a row against a wall and shoot them." "My sister's panacea for all evil," said Sir James with a smile. "There are others as well as Miss Devereux who would recommend the same thing," said Vane with a short laugh. "Shoot 'em," rasped the old lady; "shoot 'em, and go on shooting till there are no more left to shoot. I'm sure we'd get along very well without the brutes."