"No." Roger began to feel like a small boy again.
"That's good. You're too inexperienced to have any worth while; too
obstinate to put up with having any rooted out. What do you know about
the movement, anyway?"
"Practically nothing," Roger snapped. After all, Katya had not invented
her Social Revolution. It was not her personal property.
"'Virgin Soil,'" Katya grinned. "Ever read it?"
"Yes."
"Like it?"
"Not much."
"Why?"
"It didn't get me."
"Russian literature is a fad with most Americans, only they won't own
it. But some day you will like it."
She might as well have said: "Some day you will develop to the point of
understanding Russian literature."
For the present, however, she had finished with him. She rose now above
the fence and gave a long, clear whistle. Instantly the two men stopped
talking.
"No more time to-day, boys." Black Tom answered the whistle with two
short notes and Katya opened the gate.
"I say, you're not going to let the thing hang in mid-air, are you?"
one of the men demanded belligerently. "You think you've got the whole
thing in your own pocket. Well, you haven't. The rest of us----"
"Get out," Tom thundered. "Neither of you has a suggestion worth
listening to. I tell you we're not ready yet. You're like a lot of
kids with firecrackers, can't wait till the Fourth to make your little
splutter. I'm not going to fight just for the sake of fighting."
"You tin Czar----"
"Get out."
The men banged out of the loft and Katya led Roger over to Black Tom.
"Roger Barton."
The big man stared at him, still concerned with the others, until Katya
laid a hand on his arm and drew him back to the present.
"Hilary Wainwright's secretary. Sent out those invitations." They
smiled at each other, and Roger bristled. The courtesy of these people
was an extraordinary thing. "He's left and wants to talk to you." Like
a nurse delivering her charge, Katya clumped away.
Black Tom glanced at the desk clock, frowned and said shortly:
"I suppose that means you want to look us over with a view to coming
in?"
"I don't know whether I do or not," Roger flung at him.
Black Tom seemed to see him for the first time. He smiled and sat down.
"I beg your pardon, but we get pretty gruff in this thing. So you've
left Wainwright? Consequential ass. What do you want to do?"
"Anything that will stop the output of more--consequential asses."
Black Tom leaned back in his chair and laughed, a laugh so deep and
eternally young, that Roger knew the man could never seriously annoy
him again.
"You've come to the right place. That's our specialty," and added, "any
party affiliations?"