"We hear much of the power of labour but there has been a
mistake made," he said. "Such men as myself--we are the power. Do you
see we have come out of the mass? We stand forth."
Stopping before the advertising man and looking down the fat man
winked. "You do not need to say that in the book. There is no need of
quoting me there. Our bicycles are being bought by workingmen and it
would be foolish to offend them but what I say is nevertheless true.
Do not such men as I, with our cunning brains and our power of
patience build these great modern organisations?"
The fat man waved his arm toward the shops from which the roar of
machinery came. The advertising man absentmindedly nodded his head. He
was trying to hear the song of labour talked of by the drunken man. It
was quitting time and there was the sound of many feet moving about
the floor of the factory. The roar of the machinery stopped.
Again the fat man walked up and down talking of the career of the
labourer who had come forth from the ranks of labour. From the factory
the men began filing out into the open. There was the sound of feet
scuffling along the wide cement sidewalk past the flowerbeds.
Of a sudden the fat man stopped. The advertising man sat with pencil
suspended above the paper.
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