a rush; the rush washed out a gutter. This breach widened and before half-dressed men ran from the shanties the pond was roaring through the broken dam, lowering rapidly as its own escape made drainage faster. The birds picked up their chirping again and broke into song, but before they began to fly against the orange heavens to the eastward the pond was drained and half the dam washed away.
On the carriage in the mill was found a soiled envelope addressed to Helen.
"So far we've gone easy. If you don't clear out at once we will show you what we can do.—Citizens' Committee."
It was hot in Detroit that morning as well, with a steady breeze from the southwest which kicked up white caps in the river and made the pines in Luke Taylor's garden moan steadily. The old man sat in his library with the photographs of the Foraker timber that Rowe had taken spread about him on the table, holding a telephone receiver to his ear.
"Hello—Hello—You, Rowe?"
He hitched forward as an assuring voice came into his ear.
"What the devil's wrong with you?"
"We've been delayed a bit, Mr. Taylor."
"Delayed? My God, ain't you got authority and money? What's delayed you?"
"The party isn't quite ready to close."
"Not ready! What's holdin' it up? Money?"
"Well, no—they haven't made up their minds."
"Oh, they haven't made up their minds they want
