“Yes?” said Drexel mechanically. He was glad of a momentary respite from his unpleasant task. “Things have developed just as we planned. The scheme is ripe. All we’ve got to do is to hustle home, do a little more work, and then pluck the profits.” The scheme had been out of Drexel’s head for near a fortnight. Coming back fresh as it did, it had certain aspects it had not borne before. “I believe the fifteen millions profit is to be squeezed out of the city--out of the people,” he said slowly. “I wouldn’t use such an unpleasant word as ‘squeeze’ about money that I was to control,” returned his uncle dryly. “Remember, this is where I step out and you step in. ‘The king is dead; long live the king!’” Drexel gazed steadily at the carpet. “You seem to take your coronation very coolly,” grumbled his uncle. “But in two weeks you’ll be back in Chicago, in the midst of the deal. You’ll be excited enough then!” Drexel still looked down. His thoughts had gone to Sonya--to Sonya and the others, giving their all to the people’s cause. He raised his eyes. “And what about the people?” he slowly asked. “The people?” queried his uncle. “What people?” “The city--the stock-holders--the tax-payers--the passengers--all the people we’re going to get the fifteen millions out of.” “Now what the devil’s the matter with the boy!” exploded the old man. “I haven’t been doing any thinking, and I’m not going to do any moralizing now--but somehow that deal looks different to me from what it used to.” He was silent a moment. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, uncle, but you’ll have to count me out.” “Count you out!” He stared. “Are you crazy?” “I am just beginning to come to my senses,” said Drexel. “Then you are in earnest?” “With all the earnestness I have.” The old man regarded the other in grim silence. His jaw began to tighten and his eyes to shoot fire from beneath their bushy iron-gray brows. “What are you going to do?” he asked. “I don’t know.” Some quality that had lain dormant in Drexel till it had been roused by his fortnight’s contact with new ideals, new motives, now suddenly stirred within him. His face quickened with decision. “Yes I think I do know,” he said. “Well--what is it?” “After all, I’m not going to drop out of that street-car deal. I’m going back to fight it.” “Fight it?” The old man looked bewildered. “For whom?” “For the people.” “For the people!” Amazement, contempt, rising wrath, struggled in his face. “You realize, young man, that means you are going to fight me?” “Forgive me, uncle, for I think we have truly loved one another--” “No snuffling!” “Yes, I am going to fight you.”