When he woke, it was to find that his men had been working fast, ranging over the city, spreading the news to their friends--news of this wonderful Dr. Alfreed who had emerged from public obscurity to denounce the dangerous maniac who had been permitted to menace the city by the softlings in administrative control. His door-signal flashed. "Come," he called luxuriously from his bed. "'Lo, Winters," he greeted an agitated colleague who strode into the room. "Alfreed," snapped Winters, "how did you do it? And how are you going to stop them? It isn't healthy, this concentration on the death of one man." "One ruthless, murdering maniac," said the doctor coldly. "Do you call unhealthy the operation that removes a cancer?" He sat up in bed and brought his fist down emphatically on his knee. "No! The day that Clark Stevens dies I shall rest from my labors, but until then it must and shall be my only thought--and not mine alone but all the people in the city. And those who say otherwise shall be _crushed_!" Winters stared him in the eye. "If you're not mad," he said, "you're giving a very accurate imitation of megalomania. But, for the sake of the record, I assure you that I shall never be a Rightman, and that many others have told me the same. Alfreed, you'll never get a majority in any election, so why continue a futile opposition?" The doctor frowned. "Get out," he said. "You will see how a _man_ gets what he wants. He _takes_ it!" As the door closed on Winters' back he relaxed in bed. "_Rightman_," did the old fool say? Not bad. Not bad at all. He leaped out of bed and dressed. He was nervous, almost hysterically so. As he strode down the corridor of the dwelling, his friends greeted him with cries of "Right!" They were on his side, he thought. He had to make a speech in the breakfast room of the dwelling and left with the cry of "Right for Alfreed!" crashing in his ears. Time to organize now, he thought. The enthusiasm must not be allowed to die down, for once cold reason was permitted to set in, his cause was lost. There could be no such thing as full debate; he must imbue his followers with such a sense of their truth and right that they would, unthinkingly, stamp on the first murmur of opposition, without listening to what the opposer had to say. Had he really been fooling when he intimated to Winters that he would take over by force? Maybe. He didn't know yet. First thing the Rightmen would need, he decided, would be some sort of identification. Badges--stars? No, these were too flimsy; they might get lost easily, or then some scoundrel who had no right to them, who did not swear allegiance to the cause, might get hold of them.