"Think a minute. Why is your magazine pushing you so? The first story of your series is only just out and they've already boomed you all over the country. Why, Bill, I saw your picture in a trolley car in Denver--and you're only twenty-five years old! It's damn fine writing, I'll say it again, but that's not reason enough for this. You've got to go down deeper and look into your magazine's policy--which is to strike a balance for all kinds of middle-class readers and for their advertisers too. They've run some radical stuff this year, and they're booming you now to balance off, to show how 'safe and sane' they can be in the way they look at life, at big business and at industry--as you do here in the harbor. You're making gods out of the men at the top, you've seen 'em as they see themselves, and you've only seen what they see here. You've missed all the millions of people here who depend on the place for their jobs and their lives. They don't count for you----" "That's not true at all!" I interrupted hotly. "It's just for them and their children that fellows like Dillon are on the job--to make a better harbor!" "_For_ them, _for_ the people!" said Joe. "That's what I'm kicking at in you, Bill--you treat us all like a mass of dubs that need gods above to do everything _for_ us because we can't do it all by ourselves!" "I don't believe the people can," I retorted. "From what I've seen I honestly don't believe they count. The fellows that count in a job like this are the fellows with punch and grit enough to fight their way up out of the ranks----" "I know, and be lieutenants and captains in a regular army of peace, with your friend Dillon in command and Wall Street in command of him! Isn't that your view?" "All right, it is! I don't see any harm in that. It's the only safe way that I can see out of this mess of a harbor we've got. These men are the efficient ones--they're the fellows that have the brains and that know how to work--to use science, money, everything--to get a decent world ahead. What's the matter with efficiency?" "Your latest god," sneered J. K. "Suppose it is! What's wrong with it? What's the matter with Dillon? Is he a crook?"