The Mayor had broken into a high-pitched laugh; he stopped abruptly. "How many people'd there be in all the houses put together?" "Six thousand. Five of 'em at the movies." "They'd start a riot!" "Oh, I wouldn't pinch the audiences; just the managers, and bust up the shows. _Then_ you'd find out if the people want that law or not. We say they don't, but how do we know? Let's find out." The Mayor sat down at his desk, and began to chuckle. "Chief, that's a bully idea--but what'd happen on Monday?" "Happen? When, five, six thousand voters got put out in the street and their Sunday afternoon spoiled? Fellows with girls--Pa takin' the family out for a treat--factory hands? They'd be a howlin' mob in the Council chamber on Monday mornin'; that's what'd happen. And _one_ damn fool law'd be fixed so's the Police Department'd know how to handle it." "It's passing the buck!" murmured the Mayor, ecstatically. "It's passing the buck right to the people, by George!" "Sure. Do we go ahead with it? Want anybody tipped off?" The Mayor was hugging his knees ecstatically. "No, we'll make a clean sweep. No favourites. The bigger haul the better. All the boys'll understand. Keep it dead under your hat. We'll talk over the details tomorrow." Chuckling, he leaned back and opened his arms wide, his fists closed. "Rope!" he said. "Rope! Chief, we'll give 'em a hawser!" * * * * * On Saturday evening, Henry gave a special invitation performance, to which only his personal friends and Anna's were bidden, and if he had cherished any lingering doubt of his place in society, it must have been removed that night. His friends didn't know the details of the Starkweather trust fund, but they knew that Henry's future was lashed to his success with the Orpheum, and they came to help tie the knot. Naturally, since the auditorium was filled with young people who had grown up together, and with a few older people who had helped to bring them up, there was plenty of informality--indeed, a large part of it had been scheduled and rehearsed in advance. Henry didn't have to ask any questions; he knew that Bob Standish was responsible. With Anna beside him, he had stood for thirty minutes in the foyer, to receive his guests, and as smile after smile encouraged him, and he heard the steady stream of sincere good-wishes, Henry began to grow curiously warm in the region of his heart, and curiously weak in the knees. Anna moved closer to him. "I told you so," she whispered. "I told you so. Everybody loves you." "It isn't me," he whispered back, with ungrammatical fervour. "It's you."