"You go to the devil. I came here to see Melcher and I'm going to see
him."
"Yeah?"
The tough one drew back his fist, but he never understood afterwards
what had taken place. He came to in the kitchen an hour later. Mr.
Melcher heard him rumble to the floor and emerged from the library. He
was a huge man, bigger than his bouncer; his face was hard and sinister
and it lighted with an unpleasant smile when he saw the unconscious thug
and measured the size of Hugo. "Pulled a fast one on Harry, eh?"
"I came to see you, Melcher."
"Well, might as well come in now. I worked up from the mines myself, and
I'm a hard egg. If you got funny with me, you'd get killed. Wha' daya
want?"
Hugo sat down in a leather chair and lit a cigarette. He was
comparatively without emotion. This was his appointed task and he would
make short shrift of it. "I came here, Melcher," he began, "to talk
about your part in the arms conferences. It happens that I disagree with
you and your propaganda. It happens that I have a method of enforcing my
opinion. Disarmament is a great thing for the world, and putting the
idea across is the first step toward even bigger things. I know the
relative truths of what you say about America's peril and what you get
from saying it. Am I clear?"