"As you were, Celeste. Sit down. I expected that. Suppressed--if made at all. You're a smart girl, Celeste, and you know the ropes. You know that you can talk to me, don't you?" "Yes, but this is ... well, the word is going around that they are going to break you, just as they have broken every other good man on the Reservation." "I expected that, too." The words were quiet enough, but the man's jaw tightened. "Also, I know how they are going to do it." "How?" "This speed-up on the Nine. They know that I won't stand still for the kind of casts that Keller's new procedure, which goes into effect tonight, is going to produce ... and this new C.O. probably will." Silence fell, broken by the secretary. "General Sanford, our first C.O., was a soldier, and a good one," she declared finally. "So was Colonel Snodgrass. Lieutenant Colonel Franklin wasn't; but he was too much of a man to do the dir ..." "Dirty work," dryly. "Exactly. Go on." "And Stoner, the New York half--ninety five percent, really--of Stoner and Black, Inc., is a Big Time Operator. So we get this damned nincompoop of a major, who doesn't know a f-u-s-e from a f-u-z-e, direct from a Wall Street desk." "So what?" One must have heard Ralph Kinnison say those two words to realize how much meaning they can be made to carry. "So what!" the girl blazed, wringing her hands. "Ever since you have been over here I have been expecting you to blow up--to smash something--in spite of the dozens of times you have told me 'a fighter can not slug effectively, Celeste, until he gets both feet firmly planted.' When--_when_--are you going to get your feet planted?" "Never, I'm afraid," he said glumly, and she stared. "So I'll have to start slugging with at least one foot in the air." That startled her. "Explain, please?" "I wanted _proof_. Stuff that I could take to the District--that I could use to tack some hides out flat on a barn door with. Do I get it? I do not. Not a shred. Neither can you. What chance do you think there is of ever getting any real proof?" "Very little," Celeste admitted. "But you can at least smash Pettler, Wilson, and that crowd. _How_ I hate those slimy snakes! I wish that you could smash Tom Keller, the poisonous moron!" "Not so much moron--although he acts like one at times--as an ignorant puppet with a head swelled three sizes too big for his hat. But you can quit yapping about slugging--fireworks are due to start at two o'clock tomorrow afternoon, when Drake is going to reject tonight's run of shell." "Really? But I don't see how either Pettler or Wilson come in." "They don't. A fight with those small fry--even smashing them--wouldn't make enough noise. Keller." "Keller!" Celeste squealed. "But you'll...." "I know I'll get fired. So what? By tackling him I can raise enough hell so that the Big Shots will have to cut out at least some of the rough stuff. You'll probably get fired too, you know--you've been too close to me for your own good."