“That is why I resign, Mr. Harley. You give me the devil’s work to do. I have done enough of it. By Heaven, I will be a free man hereafter.” The disgust and dissatisfaction that had been pent within him for many a month broke forth hot from the lips of this self-repressed man. “It is all wrong on both sides. Two wrongs do not make a right. The system of espionage we employ over everybody both on his side and ours, the tyrannical use we make of our power, the corruption we foster in politics, our secret bargains with railroads, our evasions of law as to taxes, and in every other way that suits us: it is all wrong—all wrong. I’ll be a party to it no longer. You see to what it leads—murder and anarchy. I’ll be a poor man if I must, but I’ll be a free and honest one at least.” “You are talking wickedly and wildly, Mr. Hobart. You are criticizing God when you criticize the business conditions he has put into the world. I did not know that you were a socialist, but what you have just said explains your course,” the old man reproved sadly and sanctimonious. “I am not a socialist, Mr. Harley, but you and your methods have made thousands upon thousands of them in this country during the past ten years.” “We shall not discuss that, Mr. Hobart, nor, indeed, is any discussion necessary. Frankly, I am greatly disappointed in you. I have for some time been dissatisfied with your management, but I did not, of course, know you held these anarchistic views. I want, however, to be perfectly just. You are a very good business man indeed, careful and thorough. That you have not a bold enough grasp of mind for the place you hold is due, perhaps, to these dangerous ideas that have unsettled you. Your salary will be continued for six months. Is that satisfactory?” “No, sir. I could not be willing to accept it longer than to-day. And when you say bold enough, why not be plain and say unscrupulous enough?” amended the younger man. “As you like. I don’t juggle with words. The point is, you don’t succeed. This adventurer, Ridgway, scores continually against you. He has beaten you clear down the line from start to finish. Is that not true?” “Because he does not hesitate to stoop to anything, because—” “Precisely. You have given the very reason why he must be fought in the same spirit. Business ethics would be as futile against him as chivalry in dealing with a jungle-tiger.” “You would then have had me stoop to any petty meanness to win, no matter how contemptible?” The New Yorker waved him aside with a patient, benignant gesture. “I don’t care for excuses. I ask of my subordinates success. You do not get it for me. I must find a man who can.” Hobart bowed with fine dignity. The touch of disdain in his slight smile marked his sense of the difference between them. He was again his composed rigid self.