You must choose whether to uphold your sacred oath of office, or to disregard it. And within forty-eight hours you will have made that choice, and we shall know where our duty lies.... I thank you for your patience." The Mayor was one of those who, without the first atom of sustaining evidence, had long been vaguely suspicious that Mr. Mix wasn't always as pious as he appeared in church. He had noted, too, that although Mr. Mix's name was frequently listed on committees, yet it never bobbed up in connection with an obscure cause, however worthy, or among the names of unimportant citizens. He was convinced that Mr. Mix had an ulterior motive--political, social, financial--but the worst of it was that Mr. Mix had come with support which couldn't be sidetracked. The Mayor shook himself, and went over to his telephone; a few minutes later the Chief of Police strolled in, and grinned at the disordered semi-circle of chairs. "Been holdin' a prayer-meetin', Mr. Rowland?" The Mayor was biting his moustache. "Sit down, Chief. I want some advice.... Lord, I wish Barklay wasn't off on his vacation.... Why, I've just had a threat from this Reform League." "Threat? What kind of a threat?" The Mayor didn't reply immediately; he continued to chew his moustache. "You know that fool Sunday law--was passed 'way back in the year One?" "Sure. 147. Dead letter." "They say it's got to be enforced." The Chief laughed boisterously. "That's a big order." "I know it is. The mass of the people don't want it--never did. But in these days there isn't a Councillor _I_ know'd put a motion to repeal it, or amend it. Probition's scared 'em. They don't know _what_ the people want, so they're laying mighty low.... Same time, this League's getting pretty strong. Mix, and John Starkweather's sister, and ex-Senator Kaplan, Richards of the First National, Dr. Smillie of the Church crowd, old man Fredericks of National Metal--know what they handed me today?" "Let her come." The Mayor snorted with disgust. "Hinted if I didn't begin enforcement day after tomorrow they'd appeal to the Governor.... Lord, I wish Barklay was here." The Chief grinned again. "I know what Barklay'd say." "What?" "Give 'em rope." "We-ll ... that's easy enough to _say_." "Easy to do, too." "I can't see it. But if they go up to the Governor, with a petition to investigate--and the state law's pretty rough--and start impeachment proceedings--" The Chief spat contemptuously. "Shucks, give 'em rope." "Well--_how_?" "Why, _enforce_ the damn' law--just once. Spike Mix's guns--he's only doin' this on a bluff. Guess he wants the reform vote for Council, or somethin'. Keep it under our bonnets, and send out a squad of patrolman Sunday afternoon to raid every theatre in town. Bat 'em over the head before they know it. I wouldn't even tell my own men 'till I lined 'em up and give 'em their orders. Then listen for the public to holler."