rather see the German flag flying there? If you would--go on with this thing. Quit. Take your pay and run. I want fighting-men. I want men who are willing to give their lives for America if she needs them. I don't want you.... From this minute you don't work for me, not one of you. From this minute every employee in this plant shall be a volunteer, a man who is willing to _fight_. This afternoon I move my office into the shop--to be right there when the explosion comes that you're running away from. If there's danger I'll be there to see it with the men in the shop.... I'm going to fight. I want to say that I wanted to fight in France. I wanted to fly an aeroplane over the German lines, but I wasn't allowed. The War Department ordered me to stay here--and why? Because here is where the war is to be won.... And you'll have no part in it. Some day your grandchildren will be asking you what you did to help America--and you'll have to tell them you laid down, that you ran, that you quit in a pinch. That's all.... The paymaster's office is open and ready.... You're _fired_." He stopped and glared down at them, and they stood silent, astonished. "Now," he shouted, "are there any _real_ Americans among you? I'm calling for volunteers to stick to the job.... Volunteers. Men who will stick to me, hell or high water, dynamite or cyclone. Who'll stand by America! Who'll work under that flag!" He pointed upward again. "I'm through. I've said all I have to say.... Now then, quitters to the paymaster... volunteers stand forward." A man at the far edge began to slink away. Potter watched him in tense anxiety. The men watched him. Was he the first sheep of the flock? Was he the first drop of a deluge? They waited a breathless minute; then a burly man in overalls sprang after the slinker and caught him by the shoulder. "Git back there!" he shouted. "What the hell you think you're doing? Git back there, you--" "Stop," said Potter. "Let him go if he wants to." "He'll stay," shouted the big man, "or I'll see him carried out. He's a brother of mine. This hain't your business. It's mine.... You git back there, Bob." Bob slunk back to his place amid jeers and shouts from the men, now in motion, milling like a herd of excited cattle. "Volunteers!" shouted Potter. "Volunteers step this way!" Lakin stepped forward and turned to glare at his companions. Another man joined him, and another.... Then the whole throng seemed to surge forward as if swept by a great wind, and as they swept forward they shouted. It was a man's shout, a shout of victory, a shout of enthusiasm, a shout which told Potter that something had moved in their hearts, and the music of it was very sweet. His face glowed, his eyes burned. "I thought it was in you," he said, and his voice was not harsh, as it had been, but clogged with emotion and unsteady. "I had faith in you ... because you were all Americans.... Thank you, men.... The Waite Volunteers."