“I don’t know that exactly. But I should say about a thousand dollars. Of course, a general strike would cost us a great deal more than that.” Mr. Round nodded. Then he happened to glance at Allan West’s burning face. “What do you think about it, Allan?” he asked. “I wouldn’t bribe a man if it kept the road from being tied up for a year,” answered Allan, impetuously. “Besides, you’re not really helping matters—the thing will have to be fought out sooner or later. Let’s fight it out now. We’ll get out trains through in spite of them. We’ll have the law back of us.” “The law isn’t much of a protection,” remarked Mr. Round. “It doesn’t so much prevent crime, as punish it. And it isn’t much of a compensation to a railroad, after it has had two or three hundred thousand dollars’ worth of property destroyed, to have the fellows who did it sent to jail. Besides, what’s the use of being so horror-stricken at the idea of bribery? We’re always giving or taking bribes. When you tipped the waiter in the diner this morning, you bribed him to give you better service than he gave the other people he was serving.” “I didn’t tip him,” said Allan, smiling, “and that was just the reason. I agree with you that tipping is petty bribery, and diminishes the self-respect of both the giver and receiver.” “You’ve hit it,” approved Mr. Round. “To give a bribe diminishes one’s self-respect. But has a corporation like a railroad any self-respect?” “It ought to have.” “Most people seem to think it hasn’t even common honesty, because it has had to fight with such weapons as came to hand. Good Lord! does anybody suppose the railroads _wanted_ to give passes and contribute to campaign funds, and maintain a lobby, and pay bribes? But they couldn’t get what they wanted any other way!” Allan smiled. “Sometimes they wanted things they hadn’t any business with,” he said, “and they’re suffering for it now. But I guess they’ll pull through. The public will see after a while that they’re not so black as they’re painted. And right here’s a chance to keep this one clean.” Again Mr. Round nodded. Then he wheeled his chair around and for some moments sat staring thoughtfully out of the window. Then he wheeled sharply back. “Schofield,” he said, “you tell Nixon to go ahead and call a strike, if he wants to.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER IX A BUBBLE BURSTS ALLAN was on his feet, his eyes shining. “That’s great!” he said. “That’s great.” Mr. Round motioned him to sit down again.