In the saloon the three men had sat until late into the night drinking
and talking. The second newspaper man--that same dapper fellow who had
watched the marchers by the factory wall--had told over and over the
story of McGregor and his Marchers. "I tell you there is something
growing up here," he had said. "I have seen this McGregor and I know.
You may believe me or not but the fact is that he has found out
something. There is an element in men that up to now has not been
understood--there is a thought hidden away within the breast of
labour, a big unspoken thought--it is a part of men's bodies as well
as their minds. Suppose this fellow has figured that out and
understands it, eh!"
Becoming more and more excited as he continued to drink the newspaper
man had been half wild in his conjectures as to what was to happen in
the world. Thumping with his fist upon a table wet with beer he had
addressed the writer of advertisements. "There are things that animals
know that have not been understood by men," he cried. "Consider the
bees. Have you thought that man has not tried to work out a collective
intellect? Why should man not try to work that out?"
The newspaper man's voice became low and tense. "When you go into a
factory I want you to keep your eyes and your ears open," he said.
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