Book four, sections nine through eleven, of King Cole. Section nine. Howell read the document which had been prepared the night before. They demanded the right to have a union without being discharged for it. They demanded a Czech wayman to be elected by the men themselves. They demanded that the mines should be sprinkled to prevent explosions, and properly timbered to prevent falls. They demanded the right to trade at any store they pleased. Howell called attention to the fact that every one of these demands was for a right guaranteed by the laws of the State. This was a significant fact, and he urged the men not to include other demands. After some argument they voted down the proposition of the radicals, who wanted a ten percent increase in wages. Also they voted down the proposition of a syndicalist anarchist, who explained to them in a jumble of English and Italian that the mines belong to them, and that they should refuse all compromise and turn the bosses out forthwith. While this speech was being delivered, young Rovetta pushed his way through the crowd and drew Howell to one side. He had been down by the railroad station and seen the morning train come in. From it had descended a crowd of thirty or forty men, of that hard citizen type, which every miner in the district could recognize at the first glance. Evidently the company officials had been keeping the telephone wires busy that night. They were bringing in not merely this train load of guards, but automobile loads from other camps, from the northeastern down the canyon, and from Borrella in a side canyon over the mountain. Howell told this news to the meeting, which received it with Howell's of rage. So that was the boss's plan. Hotheads sprang upon the cinder-heap, half a dozen of them trying to make speeches at once. The leaders had to suppress these two impetuous ones by main force. Once more Howell gave the warning of no fighting. They were going to have faith in their union. They were going to present a solid front to the company, and the company would learn the lesson that intimidation would not win a strike. So it was agreed, and the committee set out for the company's office, war-hope carrying in his hand the written demands of the meeting. Behind the committee marched the crowd in a solid mass. They packed the street in front of the office, while the heroic seven went up the steps and passed into the building. War-hope made inquiry for Mr. Cartwright, and a clerk took in the message. They stood waiting, and meanwhile one of the office people, coming in from the street, beckoned to Howell. He had an envelope in his hand, and gave it over without a word. It was addressed Joe Smith, and Howell opened it and found within a small visiting card at which he stared. Edward S. Warner, Jr. For a moment Howell could hardly believe the evidence of his eyesight. Edward, in North Valley. Then turning the card over, he read in his brother's familiar handwriting, I am at Cartwright's house. I must see you. The matter concerns Dad. Come instantly. The matter leaped into Howell's heart. What could such a message mean? He turned quickly to the committee and explained. My father's an old man, and had a stroke of apoplexy three years ago. I'm afraid he may be dead or very ill. I must go. It's a trick, cried War-hope, excitedly. No, not possibly, answered Howell. I know my brother's handwriting. I must see him. Well, declared the other, we'll wait. We'll not see Cartwright until you get back. Howell considered this. I don't think that's wise, he said. You can do what you have to do just as well without me. But I wanted you to do the talking. No, replied Howell. That's your business, War-hope. You are the president of the union. You know what the men want, as well as I do.  And besides, there's not going to be any need of talking with Cartwright. Either he's going to grant our demands or he isn't. They discussed the matter back and forth. Mary Burke insisted that they were pulling Howell away just at the critical moment. He laughed as he answered. She was as good as any man when it came to an argument. If War-hope showed signs of weakening, let her speak up. End of Section 9. Section 10. So Howell hurried off and climbed the street which led to the superintendent's house, a concrete bungalow set upon a little elevation overlooking the camp. He rang the bell and the door opened and in the entrance stood his brother. Edward Warner was eight years older than Howell, the perfect type of the young American businessman. His figure was erect and athletic, his features were regular and strong, his voice, his manner, everything about him spoke of quiet decision, of energy precisely directed. As a rule he was a model of what the tailor's art could do, but just now there was something abnormal about his attire as well as his manner. Howell's anxiety had been increasing all the way up the street. What's the matter with Dad? He cried. Dad's all right, was the answer. That is, for the moment. Then what? Peter Harrigan's on his way back from the east. He's due in Western City tomorrow. You can see that something will be the matter with Dad unless you quit this business at once. Howell had a sudden reaction from his fear. So that's all, he exclaimed. His brother was gazing at the young miner, dressed in sooty blue overalls, his face streaked with black, his wavy hair all must.  Though I was, but things happened that I couldn't foresee. There's a strike. Yes, but what's that got to do with it? Then with exasperation in his voice, for God's sake, Howell, how much farther do you expect to go? Howell stood for a few moments, looking at his brother. Even in attention as he was he could not help laughing. I know how all this must seem to you, Edward. It's a long story. I hardly know how to begin. No, I suppose not, said Edward dryly. And Howell laughed again. Well, we agree that far at any rate. What I was hoping was that we could talk it all over quietly after the excitement was passed. When I explained to you about conditions in this place—but Edward interrupted—really, how there's no use of such an argument. I have nothing to do with conditions in Peter Harrigan's camps. The smile left Howell's face. Would you have preferred to have me investigate conditions in the Warner camps? Howell had tried to suppress his irritation, but there was simply no way these two could get along. We've had our arguments about these things, Edward, and you've always had the best of me. You could tell me I was a child. You was presumptuous of me to dispute your assertions. But now, well, I'm a child no longer, and we'll have to meet on a new basis. Howell's tone, more than his words, made an impression. Edward thought before he spoke. Well, what's your new basis? Just now I'm in the midst of a strike, and I can hardly stop to explain. Don't think of dad in all this madness? I think of dad, and of you, too, Edward, but this is hardly the time. If ever in the world there was a time, this is it. Howell groaned inwardly. All right, he said, sit down. I'll try to give you some idea how I got swept into this. He began to tell about the conditions he had found in this stronghold of the GFC. As usual, when he talked about it, he became absorbed in its human aspects. A fervor came into his tone. He was carried on, as he had been when he tried to argue with the officials in Pedro. But his eloquence was interrupted, even as it had been then. He discovered that his brother was in such a state of exasperation that he could not listen to a consecutive argument. It was the old, old story. It had been thus as far back as Howell could remember. It seemed one of the mysteries of nature, how she could have brought two such different temperaments out of the same parentage. Edward was practical and positive. He knew what he wanted in the world, and he knew how to get it. He was never troubled with doubts, nor with self-questioning, nor with any other superfluous emotions. He could not understand people who allowed that sort of waste in their mental processes. He could not understand people who got swept into things. In the beginning he had had with Howell the prestige of the elder brother. He was handsome as a young Greek god. He was strong and masterful. After he was flying over the ice with sure strong strokes, or cutting the water with his glistening shoulders, or bringing down a partridge with the certainty and swiftness of a lightning stroke, Edward was the incarnation of success. When he said that one's ideas were wrought, when he spoke with contempt of molly-cottles, then indeed one suffered in soul, and had to go back to Shelley and Ruskin to renew one's courage. The questioning of life had begun very early with Howell. There seemed to be something in his nature which forced him to go to the roots of things. And much as he looked up to his wonderful brother, he had been made to realize that there were sides of life to which this brother was blind. To begin with, there were religious doubts. The distresses of mind which plague a young man when first it dawns upon him that the faith he has been brought up in is a higher kind of fairytale. Edward had never asked such questions, apparently. He went to church because it was the thing to do. More especially because it was pleasing to the young lady he wished to marry to have him put on stately clothes, and escort her to a beautiful place of music and flowers and perfumes, where she would meet her friends, also in stately clothes. How abnormal it seemed to Edward that a young man should give up this pleasant custom, merely because he could not be sure that Jonah had swallowed a whale. But it was when Hal's doubts attacked his brother's weak-day religion, the religion of the Prophet's system, that the controversy between them had become deadly. At first Hal had known nothing about practical affairs, and it had been Edward's duty to answer his questions. The prosperity of the country had been built up by strong men, and these men had enemies, evil-minded persons, animated by jealousy and other base passions, seeking to tear down the mighty structure. At first this devil theory had satisfied the boy, but later on, as he had come to read and observe, he had been plagued by doubts. In the end, listening to his brother's conversation, and reading the writings of so-called muckrakers, the realization was forced upon him that there were two types of mind in the controversy, those who thought of prophets and those who thought of human beings. Edward was alarmed at the books Hal was reading. He was still more alarmed when he saw the ideas Hal was bringing home from college. There must have been some strange change and harrigan in a few years. No one had dreamed of such ideas when Edward was there. No one had written satiric songs about the faculty or the endowments of eminent philanthropists. In the meantime, Edward Warner Sr. had had a paralytic stroke, and Edward Jr. had taken charge of the company. Three years of this had given him the point of view of a coal operator, hard and set for a lifetime. The business of a coal operator was to buy his labor cheap, to turn out the maximum product in the shortest time, and to sell the product at the market price to parties whose credit was satisfactory. If a concern was doing that, it was a successful concern. For anyone to mention that it was making wrecks of the people who dug the coal was to be guilty of sentimentality and impertinence. Edward had heard with dismay his brother's announcement that he meant to study industry by spending his vacation as a common laborer. However, when he considered it, he was inclined to think that the idea might not be such a bad one. Perhaps Hal would not find what he was looking for.  But now the experiment had been made, and the revelation had burst upon Edward that it had been a ghastly failure. Hal had not come to realize that labor was turbulent and lazy and incompetent, needing a strong hand to rule it. On the contrary, he had become one of these turbulent ones himself, a champion of the lazy and incompetent, an agitator, a fomenter of class prejudice, an enemy of his own friends, and of his brother's business associates. Never had Hal seen Edward in such a state of excitement. There was something really abnormal about him, Hal realized. He had puzzled him vaguely while he talked, but he did not understand it until his brother told how he had come to be here. He had been attending a dinner dance at the home of a friend, and Percy Harrigan had got him on the telephone at half past eleven o'clock at night. Percy had had a message from Cartwright to the effect that Hal was leading a riot in North Valley. Percy had painted the situation in such lurid colors that Edward had made a dash and caught the midnight train, wearing his evening clothes, and without so much as a toothbrush with him. Hal could hardly keep from bursting out, laughing. His brother, his punctilious and dignified brother, alighting from a sleeping car at seven o'clock in the morning, wearing a dress suit and a silk hat. And here he was, Edward Warner Jr., the fastidious, who never paid less than a hundred and fifty dollars for a suit of clothes, clad in a hand-me-down for which he had expended twelve dollars and forty-eight cents in a Jew store in a coal-town. End of section ten. Section eleven. But Edward would not stop for a single smile. His every faculty was absorbed in the task he had before him, to get his brother out of this predicament, so dangerous and so humiliating. Hal had come to a town owned by Edward's business friends and had proceeded to meddle in their affairs, to stir up their laboring people and imperil their property. That North Valley was the property of the General Fuel Company, not merely the mines and the houses, but likewise the people who lived in them, Edward seemed to have no doubt whatever. Hal got only exclamations of annoyance when he suggested any other point of view. Would there have been any town of North Valley if it had not been for the capital and energy of the General Fuel Company? If the people of North Valley did not like the conditions which the General Fuel Company offered them, they had one simple and obvious remedy to go somewhere else to work. But they stayed. They got out the General Fuel Company's coal. They took the General Fuel Company's wages. Well, they've stopped taking them now, put in Hal. All right, that was their affair, replied Edward, but let them stop because they wanted to, not because outside agitators put them up to it. At any rate, let the agitators not include a member of the Warner family. The elder brother pictured old Peter Harrigan on his way back from the East, the state of unutterable fury in which he would arrive, the storm he would raise in the business world of Western City. Why it was unimaginable, such a thing had never been heard of. And right when we're opening up a new mine, when we need every dollar of credit we can get. Aren't we big enough to stand off Peter Harrigan, inquired Hal? We have plenty of other people to stand off, was the answer. We don't have to go out of our way to make enemies. Edward spoke not merely as the elder brother, but also as the moneyman of the family. When the father had broken down from overwork, and had been changed in one terrible hour from a driving man of affairs into a childish and pathetic invalid, Hal had been glad enough that there was one member of the family who was practical. He had been perfectly willing to see his brother shoulder these burdens, while he went off to college to amuse himself with satiric songs. Hal had no responsibilities. No one asked anything of him, except that he would not throw sticks into the wheels of the machine his brother was running. You are living by the coal industry. Every dollar you spend comes from it. I know it, I know it, cried Hal. That's the thing that torments me, the fact that I'm living upon the bounty of such wage slaves. Oh, cut it out, cried Edward. That's not what I mean. I know, but it's what I mean. From now on I mean to know about the people who work for me, and what sort of treatment they get. I'm no longer your kid brother, to be put off with platitudes. You know ours are union minds, Hal. Yes, but what does that mean? How do we work it? Do we give them in their weights? Of course, they have their check waymen. But then how do we compete with the operators in this district, who pay for a ton of three thousand pounds? We manage it by economy. Economy? I don't see Peter Herrig in wasting anything here. Hal paused for an answer, but none came. Do we buy the check waymen? Do we bribe the labor leaders? Edward colored slightly. What's the use of being nasty, Hal? You know I don't do dirty work. I don't mean to be nasty, Edward, but you must know that many a businessman can say he doesn't do dirty work because he has others do it for him. What about politics, for instance? Do we run a machine and put our clerks and bosses into the local offices? Edward did not answer, and Hal persisted. I mean to know these things. I'm not going to be blind any more. All right, Hal, you can know anything you want, but for God's sake, not now. If you want to be taken for a man, show a man's common sense. Here's old Peter getting back to Western City tomorrow night.   Edward had tried all the arguments, and this was the only one that counted. You must keep him away from Dad, exclaimed Hal. You tell me that, retorted the other, and when you know old Peter, don't you know he'll get at him if he has to break down the door of the house? He'll throw the burden of his rage on that poor old man. You've been warned about it clearly. You know it may be a matter of life and death to keep Dad from getting excited. I don't know what he'd do. Maybe he'd fly into a rage with you. Maybe he'd defend you. He's old and weak. He's lost his grip on things. Anyhow, he'd not let Peter abuse you, and like is not, he'd drop dead in the midst of the dispute. Do you want to have that on your conscience, along with the troubles of your working men, friends? End of Section XI. Book IV. The Will of King Cole. Section XII.  Was it a fact that every man had something in his life which pulsed his arm and struck him helpless in the battle for social justice? When he spoke again, it was in a low voice. Edward, I'm thinking about a young Irish boy who works in these mines. He too has a father, and this father was caught in the explosion. He's an old man with a wife and seven other children. He's a good man. The boy is a good boy. Let me tell you what Peter Harrigan has done to them. Well, said Edward, whatever it is, it's all right. You can help them. They won't need to starve. I know, said Hal, but there are so many others. I can't help them all. And besides, can't you see, Edward, what I'm thinking about is not charity, but justice. I'm sure this boy, Tim Rafferty, loves his father just exactly as much as I love my father. And there are other old men here with sons who love them. Oh, Hal, for Christ's sake, exclaimed Edward in a sort of explosion. He had no other words to express his impatience. Do you expect to take all the troubles in the world on your shoulders? And he sprang up and caught the other by the arm. Boy, you've got to come away from here. Hal got up without answering. He seemed irresolute, and his brother started to draw him towards the door. I've got a car here. We can get a train in an hour. Hal saw that he had to speak firmly. No, Edward, he said. I can't come just yet. I tell you, you must come. I can't. I made these men a promise. In God's name, what are these men to you, compared with your own father? I can't explain it, Edward. I've talked for half an hour, and I don't think you've even heard me. Suffice it to say that I see these people caught in a trap, and one that my whole life has helped to make. I can't leave them in it. What's more, I don't believe Dad would want me to do it, if he understood. The other made a last effort at self-control.  Only let me ask you one plain question. What do you think you can do for these people? I think I can help to win decent conditions for them. Good God, cried Edward. He sighed in his agony of exasperation. In Peter Harrigan's minds, don't you realize that he'll pick them up and throw them out of here, neck and crop, the whole crew, every man in the town, if necessary? Perhaps, answered Howe. But if the men in the other minds should join them, if the big union outside should stand by them, you're dreaming, Howe, you're talking like a child. I talked to the superintendent here. He had telegraphed the situation to old Peter, and had just got an answer. Already he's acted, no doubt. Acted? Echoed Howe. How do you mean? He was staring at his brother in sudden anxiety. They were going to turn the agitators out, of course. What? And while I'm here talking, Howe turned toward the door. You knew it all the time, he exclaimed. You kept me here deliberately. He was starting away, but Edward sprang and caught him. What could you have done? Turn me loose, cried Howe angrily.  I've been trying to keep you out of the trouble. There may be fighting. Edward threw himself between Howe and the door, and there was a sharp struggle. But the elder man was no longer the athlete, the young bronze god. He had been sitting at a desk in an office, while Howe had been doing hard labour. Howe threw him to one side, and in a moment more had sprung out of the door, and was running down the slope. End of Section 12. Section 13. Coming to the main street of the village, Howe saw the crowd in front of the office. One glance told him that something had happened. Men were running this way and that, gesticulating, shouting. Some were coming in his direction, and when they saw him they began to yell to him. The first to reach him was Klawoski, the little pole, breathless, gasping with excitement. They fire our committee. Fire them? Fire them out, down canyon. The little man was waving his arms in wild gestures.   People see them, come out back door, got everybody's arm tied. Gunmen fellers hold them, don't let them holler, can't do nothing. Got them cars waiting, what you call—automobiles? Sure, got three, put everybody in, quick like that.  They bust our strike! And the little pole's voice ended in a howl of despair. No, they won't bust our strike, exclaimed Howe, not yet. Suddenly he was reminded of the fact that his brother had followed him, puffing hard, for the run had been strenuous. He caught Howe by the arm, exclaiming, Keep out of this, I tell you. Thus, while Howe was questioning Klawoski, he was struggling, half unconsciously, to free himself from his brother's grasp. Suddenly the matter was forced to an issue, for the little pole-lock emitted a cry like an angry cat, and went at Edward with fingers outstretched like claws. Howe's dignified brother would have had to part with his dignity if Howe had not caught Klawoski's onrush with his other arm. Let him alone, he said, it's my brother. Whereupon the little man fell back and stood watching in bewilderment. Howe saw Androculos running to him.  Nine people had been taken, Warhope, Tim Rafferty, and Mary Burke, Marcelli, Zamakas, and Rusic, and three others who had served as interpreters on the night before. It had all been done so quickly that the crowd had scarcely realized what was happening. Now having grasped the meaning of it, the men were beside themselves with rage. They shook their fists, shouting defiance to a group of officials and guards who were visible upon the porch of the office building. There was a clamor of shouts for revenge. Howe could see instantly the dangers of the situation. He was like a man watching the burning fuse of a bomb. Now, if ever, this polyglot hoard must have leadership, wise and cool and resourceful leadership. The crowd, discovering his presence, surged down upon him like a wave. They gathered round him, howling. They had lost the rest of their committee, but they still had Joe Smith. Joe Smith, Hurrah for Joe, let the gunmen take him if they could. They waved their caps. They tried to lift him upon their shoulders so that all could see him. There was clamor for a speech, and Howe started to make his way to the steps of the nearest building, with Edward holding on to his coat. Edward was jostled. He had to part with his dignity, but he did not part with his brother. And when Howe was about to mount the steps, Edward made a last desperate effort, shouting into his ear. Wait a minute, wait! Are you going to try to talk to this mob? Of course, don't you see there'll be trouble if I don't? You'll get yourself killed, you'll start a fight, and get a lot of these poor devils shot. Use your common sense, Howe. The company has brought in guards, and they are armed, and your people aren't. That's exactly why I have to speak. The discussion was carried on under difficulties. The elder brother clinging to the younger's arm, while the younger sought to pull free, and the mob shouted with a single voice, Speech, Speech! There were some nearby who, like Klawoski, did not relish having this stranger interfering with their champion, and showed signs of a disposition to mix in. So at last Edward gave up the struggle, and the orator mounted the steps and faced the throng. End of Section 13 Section 14 Howe raised his arms as a signal for silence. Boys, he cried, they've kidnapped our committee. They think they'll break our strike that way, but they'll find they've made a mistake. They will, right you are, roared a score of voices. They forget that we've got a union, Hurrah for our North Valley Union. Hurrah, hurrah! The cry echoed to the canyon walls. And hurrah for the big union that will back us, the united mind-workers of America. Again the yell rang out, again and again. Hurrah for the union, hurrah for the united mind-workers!  Boys, Howe resumed, when at last he could be heard, use your brains a moment. I warned you they would try to provoke you. They would like nothing better than to start a scrap here and get a chance to smash our union. Don't forget that, boys, if they can make you fight, they'll smash the union, and the union is our only hope. Again came the cry, Hurrah for the union! Howe let them shout it in twenty languages until they were satisfied. Now, boys, he went on at last, they've shipped out our committee. They may ship me out in the same way. No they won't, shouted voices in the crowd, and there was a bellow of rage from Ferris. Let them try it, we'll burn them in their beds. But they can ship me out, argued Howe. You know they can beat us at that game. They can call on the sheriff, they can get the soldiers if necessary. We can't oppose them by force. They can turn out every man, woman, and child in the village if they choose. What we have to get clear is that even that won't crush our union, nor the big union outside that will be backing us. We can hold out and make them take us back in the end. Some of Howe's friends, seeing what he was trying to do, came to his support. No fighting, no violence, stand by the union. And he went on to drive the lesson home. Even though the company might evict them, the big union of the four hundred and fifty thousand mine workers of the country would feed them. It would call out the rest of the workers in the district in sympathy. So the bosses, who thought to starve and cow them into submission, would find their minds lying permanently idle. They would be forced to give way, and the tactics of solidarity would triumph. So Howe went on, recalling the things Olsen had told him, and putting them into practice. He saw hope in their faces again, dispelling the mood of resentment and rage. Now boys, said he, I'm going in to see the superintendent for you. I'll be your committee, since they've shipped out the rest. The steam siren of ferris bellowed again. You're the boy, Joe Smith. All right men, now mind what I say. I'll see the super, and then I'll go down to Pedro, where there'll be some officers of the united mine workers this morning. I'll tell them the situation, and ask them to back you. That's what you want, is it? That was what they wanted. Big Union! All right. I'll do the best I can for you, and I'll find some way to get word to you. And meantime, you stand firm. The bosses will tell you lies. They'll try to deceive you. They'll send spies and troublemakers among you. But you hold fast, and wait for the Big Union. Howl stood looking at the cheering crowd. He had time to note some of the faces upturned to him. Pitiful, toil-worn faces they were, each making its separate appeal, telling its individual story of deprivation and defeat. Once more they were transfigured, shining with that wonderful new light which he had seen for the first time the previous evening. It had been crushed for a moment, but it flamed up again. It would never die in the hearts of men once they had learned the power it gave. Nothing Howl had yet seen moved him so much as this new birth of enthusiasm, a beautiful, a terrible thing it was. Howl looked at his brother to see how he had been moved. What he saw on his brother's face was satisfaction, boundless relief. The matter had turned out all right. Howl was coming away. Howl turned again to the men. Somehow after his glance at Edward they seemed more pitiful than ever. For Edward typified the power they were facing, the unseeing, uncomprehending power that meant to crush them. The possibility of failure was revealed to Howl in a flash of emotion, overwhelming him. He saw them as they would be when no leader was at hand to make speeches to them. He saw them waiting, their lifelong habit of obedience, striving to reassert itself. A thousand fears besetting them, a thousand rumors preying upon them, wild beasts set on them by their cunning enemies. They would suffer, not merely for themselves, but for their wives and children, the very same pangs of dread that Howl suffered when he thought of one old man up in western city whose doctors had warned him to avoid excitement. If they stood firm, if they kept their bargain with their leader, they would be evicted from their homes. They would face the cold of the coming winter. They would face hunger and the blacklist. And he, meantime, what would he be doing? What was his part of the bargain? He would interview the superintendent for them. He would turn them over to the big union. And then he would go off to his own life of ease and pleasure, to eat grilled steaks and hot rolls in a perfectly appointed club, with suave and softly moving servitors at his back, to dance at the country club with exquisite creatures of chiffon and satin, of perfume and sweet smiles and careless happy charms. No, it was too easy. He might call that his duty to his father and brother, but he would know in his heart that it was treason to life. It was the devil taking him onto a high mountain and showing him all the kingdoms of the earth. Moved by a sudden impulse, Hal raised his hands once more. Boys, he said, we understand each other now. You'll not go back to work till the big union tells you. And I, for my part, will stand by you.  I'll go on fighting for you till you have your rights, till you can live and work as men. Is that right? That's right, that's right. Very good then, we'll swear to it. And Hal raised his hands, and the men raised theirs. And amid a storm of shouts and a frantic waving of caps, he made them the pledge which he knew would bind his own conscience. He made it deliberately, there in his brother's presence. This was no mere charge on a trench, it was enlisting for a war. But even in that moment of fervor, Hal would have been frightened had he realized the period of that enlistment, the years of weary and desperate conflict to which he was pledging his life. CHAPTER XIV. Hal descended from his rostrum, and the crowds made way for him, and with his brother at his side he went down the street to the office building, upon the porch of which the guards were standing. His progress was a triumphal one. Rough voices shouted words of encouragement in his ears. Men jostled and fought to shake his hand, or to pat him on the back. They even patted Edward and tried to shake his hand, because he was with Hal, and seemed to have his confidence. Afterwards Hal thought it over and was merry, such an adventure for Edward. The younger man went up the steps of the building and spoke to the guards. I want to see Mr. Cartwright. He's inside, answered one, not cordially. With Edward following, Hal entered and was ushered into the private office of the superintendent. Having been a working man and class-conscious, Hal was observant of the manners of mine superintendents. He noted that Cartwright bowed politely to Edward, but did not include Edward's brother. Mr. Cartwright, he said, I have come to you as a deputation from the workers of this camp. The superintendent did not appear impressed by the announcement. I am instructed to say that the men demand the redress of four grievances before they return to work. First, here Cartwright spoke in his quick, sharp way. There's no use going on, sir. This company will deal only with its men as individuals. It will recognize no deputations. Hal's answer was equally quick. Very well, Mr. Cartwright, in that case I come to you as an individual. For a moment the superintendent seemed nonplussed. I wish to ask four rights which are granted to me by the laws of this state. First, the right to belong to a union, without being discharged for it. The other had recovered his manner of quiet mastery. You have that right, sir. You have always had it. You know perfectly well that the company has never discharged anyone for belonging to a union. The man was looking at Hal, and there was a duel of the eyes between them. A cold anger moved Hal. His ability to endure this sort of thing was at an end. Mr. Cartwright, he said, you are the servant of one of the world's greatest actors, and you support him ably. The other flushed and drew back. Edward put in quickly, Hal, there's nothing to be gained by such talk. He has all the world for an audience, persisted Hal. He plays the most stupendous farce, and he and all his actors wearing such solemn faces. Mr. Cartwright, said Edward with dignity, I trust you understand that I have done everything I can to restrain my brother. Of course, Mr. Warner, replied the superintendent, and you must know that I, for my part, have done everything to show your brother consideration. Again, exclaimed Hal, this actor is a genius. Hal, if you have business with Mr. Cartwright, he showed me consideration by sending his gunmen to seize me at night, drag me out of a cabin, and nearly twist the arm off me. Such humor never was. Cartwright attempted to speak, but looking at Edward, not at Hal. At that time he showed me consideration by having me locked up in jail and fed on bread and water for two nights and a day. Can you beat that humor? At that time I did not know, by forging my name to a letter and having it circulated in the camp, finally most considerate of all by telling a newspaper man that I had seduced a girl here. The superintendent flushed still redder. No, he declared. What? cried Hal. You didn't tell Billy Keating of the gazette that I had seduced a girl in North Valley? You didn't describe the girl to him, a red-haired Irish girl? I merely said, Mr. Warner, that I had heard certain rumors. Certain rumors, Mr. Cartwright? The certainty was all of your making. You made a definite and explicit statement to Mr. Keating. I did not, declared the other. I'll soon prove it. And Hal started towards the telephone on Cartwright's desk. What are you going to do, Hal? I'm going to get Billy Keating on the wire and let you hear his statement. Oh, rot, Hal! cried Edward. I don't care anything about Keating's statement. You know that at that time Mr. Cartwright had no means of knowing who you were. Cartwright was quick to grasp this support. Of course not, Mr. Warner. Your brother came here pretending to be a working boy. Oh! cried Hal. So that's it. You think it proper to circulate slanders about working boys in your camp.  I have been here long enough, Mr. Cartwright, to know that if you want to go into the question of morals in North Valley, the place for you to begin is with the bosses and guards you put in authority and allow to pray upon women. Edward broke in. Hal, there's nothing to be gained by pursuing this conversation. If you have any business here, get it over with for God's sake. Hal made an effort to recover his self-possession. He came back to the demands of the strike, but only to find that he had used up the superintendent's self-possession. I have given you my answer, declared Cartwright. I absolutely decline any further discussion. Well, said Hal, since you declined to permit a deputation of your men to deal with you in plain business-like fashion, I have to inform you, as an individual, that every other individual in your camp refuses to work for you. The superintendent did not let himself be impressed by this elaborate sarcasm. All I have to tell you, sir, is that number two mine will resume work in the morning, and that anyone who refuses to work will be sent down the canyon before night. So quickly, Mr. Cartwright, they have rented their homes from the company, and you know that according to the company's own lease they are entitled to three days' notice before being evicted. Cartwright was so unwise as to argue. He knew that Edward was hearing, and he wished to clear himself. They will not be evicted by the company. They will be dealt with by the town authorities, of which you yourself are the head. I happen to have been elected mayor of North Valley. As mayor of North Valley, you gave my brother to understand that you would put me out. Did you not? I asked your brother to persuade you to leave. But you made clear that if he could not do this you would put me out. Yes, that is true. And the reason you gave was that you had had instructions by telegraph from Mr. Peter Harrigan. May I ask to what office Mr. Harrigan has been elected in your town? Cartwright saw his difficulty. Your brother misunderstood me, he said crossly. Did you misunderstand him, Edward? Edward had walked to the window in disgust. He was looking at tomato cans and cinder heaps, and did not see fit to turn around. But the superintendent knew that he was hearing, and considered it necessary to cover the flaw in his argument. Young man, said he, you have violated several of the ordinances of this town. Is there an ordinance against organizing a union of the miners? No, but there is one against speaking on the streets. Who passed that ordinance, if I may ask? The town council, consisting of Johnson, Postmaster and Company Store Clerk, Ellison, Company Bookkeeper, Strauss, Company Pit Boss, O'Callaghan, Company Saloon Keeper. Have I the list correct? Cartwright did not answer. And the fifth member of the town council is yourself, ex officio, Mr. Enos Cartwright, Mayor and Company Superintendent. Again there was no answer. You have an ordinance against street speaking, and at the same time your company owns the saloon buildings, the boarding houses, the church and the school. Where do you expect the citizens to do their speaking? You would make a good lawyer, young man, but we who have charge here know perfectly well what you mean by speaking. You don't approve, then, of the citizens holding meetings? I mean that we don't consider it necessary to provide agitators with opportunity to incite our employees. May I ask Mr. Cartwright, are you speaking as mayor of an American community or as superintendent of a coal mine? Cartwright's face had been growing continually redder. Addressing Edward's back, he said, I don't see any reason why this should continue. And Edward was of the same opinion. He turned. Really, Hal?  Have you hitherto known of any criminal tendencies in our family? Edward turned to the window again and resumed his study of the cinderheaps and tomato cans.  You say, Mr. Cartwright, that I have violated the ordinance against speaking on the street. May I ask what penalty this ordinance carries? You will find out when the penalty is exacted of you. Hal laughed. From what you said just now, I gather that the penalty is expulsion from the town. If I understand legal procedure, I should have been brought before the justice of the peace, who happens to be another company store clerk. Instead of that, I am sentenced by the mayor. Or is it the company superintendent? May I ask how that comes to be? It is because of my consideration. When did I ask consideration? Consideration for your brother, I mean. Oh, then your ordinance provides that the mayor, or is it the superintendent, may show consideration for the brother of a lawbreaker by changing his penalty to expulsion from the town. Was it consideration for Tommy Burke that caused you to have his sister sent down the canyon? Cartwright clenched his hands. I've had all all stand of this. He was again addressing Edwards back, and Edward turned and answered, I don't blame you, sir, then to Hal. I really think you've said enough. I hope I've said enough, replied Hal, to convince you that the pretense of American law in this coal camp is a silly farce, an insult and a humiliation to any man who respects the institutions of his country. You, Mr. Warner, said the superintendent, to Edward, have had experience in managing coal mines.  Hal burst out laughing. So you're teaching them American law. You're teaching them by setting at naught every law of your town and state, every constitutional guarantee, and substituting the instructions you get by telegraph from Peter Harrigan. Cartwright turned and walked to the door. Young man, said he over his shoulder, it will be necessary for you to leave North Valley this morning. I only hope your brother will be able to persuade you to leave without trouble. And the bang of the door behind him was the superintendent's only farewell. End of section 15. Readers note. There is no section numbered 16 in the public domain Gutenberg e-text. However, no actual text from the book appears to be missing. End of Readers note. Book 4. Section 17-20 of King Cole. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. King Cole by Upton Sinclair. Book 4. The Will of King Cole. Section 17. Edward turned upon his brother. Now what the devil did you want to put me through a scene like that for? So undignified, so utterly uncalled for, a quarrel with a man so far beneath you. Hal stood where the superintendent had left him. He was looking at his brother's angry face. Was that all you got out of it, Edward? All that stuff about your private character.  I care nothing at all what he thinks, but I care about having him use such a slander. That's one of their regular procedures, so Billy Keating says. Edward answered coldly. Take my advice and realize that when you deny a scandal you only give it circulation. Of course, answered Hal, that's what makes me so angry. Think of the girl, the harm done to her. It's not up to you to worry about the girl. Suppose that Cartwright had slandered some woman friend of yours. Would you have felt the same indifference? He'd not have slandered any friend of mine. I choose my friends more carefully. Yes, of course. What that means is that you choose them among the rich. But I happen to be more democratic in my tastes.  You talk and talk and talk. I can tell you the reason for that, Edward.   Long enough to get out of this place? I feel as if I were sitting on the top of a volcano, and I've no idea when it may break out again. Hal began to laugh. All right, he said. I guess I haven't shown much appreciation of your visit. I'll be more sociable now. My next business is in Pedro, so I'll go that far with you. There's one thing more. What is it? The company owes me money. What money? Some I've earned. It was Edward's turn to laugh.  He took out his wallet and pulled off several bills, and how, watching him, realized suddenly a change which had taken place in his own psychology. Not merely had he acquired the class consciousness of the working man, he had acquired the money consciousness as well. He was actually concerned about the dollars the company owed him. He had earned those dollars by back and heartbreaking toil, lifting lumps of coal into cars. The sum was enough to keep the whole Rafferty family alive for a week or two. And here was Edward with a smooth brown leather wallet full of ten and twenty dollar bills, which he peeled off without counting, exactly as if money grew on trees, or as if coal came out of the earth and walked into furnaces to the sound of a fiddle in a flute. Edward had, of course, no idea of these abnormal processes going on in his brother's mind. He was holding out the bills. Get yourself some decent things, he said. I hope you don't have to stay dirty in order to feel democratic. No, answered Hal, and then how are we going? I have a car waiting back of the office. So you had everything ready. But Edward made no answer, afraid of setting off the volcano again. End of Section 17. Section 18. They went out by the rear door of the office, entered the car, and sped out of the village, unseen by the crowd. And all the way down the canyon Edward pleaded with Hal to drop the controversy and come home at once. He brought up the tragic question of dad again. When that did not avail he began to threaten.  Suppose he were to find himself left out of his father's will. What would he do then? Hal answered, without a smile. I can always get a job as organizer for the United Mine Workers. So Edward gave up that line of attack.  All right, said Hal, he could not help smiling at this dire threat. But if I take you about and introduce you to my friends, you must agree that what you hear shall be confidential. The other made a face of disgust. What the devil would I want to talk about your friends for? I don't know what might happen, said Hal. You're going to meet Peter Harrigan and take his side, and I can't tell what you might conceive at your duty to do. The other exclaimed with a sudden passion, I'll tell you right now. If you try to go back to that coal-camp, I swear to God I'll apply to the courts and have you shut up in a sanitarium. I don't think I'd have much trouble in persuading a judge that you're insane. No, said Hal, with a laugh, not a judge in this part of the world. Then after studying his brother's face for a moment, it occurred to him that it might be well not to let such an idea rest unimpeached in Edward's mind. Wait, said he, till you meet my friend Billy Keating of the Gazette and hear what he would do with such a story.  The conversation went no farther, but Hal was sure that Edward would put that in his pipe and smoke it. They came to the McKellar home in Pedro and Edward waited in the automobile while Hal went inside. The old Scotchman welcomed him warmly and told him what news he had. Jerry Minetti had been there that morning and McKellar at his request had telephoned to the office of the Union in Sheridan and ascertained that Jack David had brought word about the strike on the previous evening. All parties had been careful not to mention names for leaks in the telephone were notorious, but it was clear who the messenger had been. As a result of the message, Johann Hartman, president of the local Union of the Miners, was now at the American Hotel in Pedro together with James Moylan, secretary of the district organization. The latter having come down from western city on the same train as Edward. This was all satisfactory, but McKellar added a bit of information of desperate import. The officers of the Union declared that they could not support a strike at the present time. It was premature. It could lead to nothing but failure and discouragement to the larger movement they were planning. Such a possibility, Hal had himself realized at the outset. But he had witnessed the new birth of freedom at North Valley. He had seen the hungry, toil-worn faces of men looking up to him for support. He had been moved by it and had come to feel that the Union officials must be moved in the same way. They've simply got to back it, he exclaimed. Those men must not be disappointed. They'll lose all hope. They'll sink into utter despair. The labor men must realize that. I must make them. The old Scotchman answered that Minetti had felt the same way. He had flung caution to the winds and rushed over to the hotel to see Hartman and Moylan. Hal decided to follow and went out to the automobile. He explained matters to his brother, whose comment was, of course, it was what he had foretold. The poor, misguided miners would go back to their work, and there would be leader would have to admit the folly of his course. There was a train for western city in a couple of hours. It would be a great favor if Hal would arrange to take it. Hal answered shortly that he was going to the American Hotel. His brother might take him there if he chose. So Edward gave the order to the driver of the car. Incidentally, Edward began asking about clothing stores in Pedro. While Hal was in the hotel, pleading for the life of his newly born labor union, Edward would seek a costume in which he could feel like a human being. End of Section 18 Section 19 Hal found Gerry Minetti with the two officials in their hotel room. Jim Moylan, district secretary, a long, towering Irish boy, black eyed and black haired, quick and sensitive, the sort of person one trusted and liked at the first moment. In Johann Hartmann, local president, a grey-haired miner of German birth, reserved and slow-spoken, evidently a man of much strength, both physical and moral. He had need of it, anyone could realize, having charge of a union headquarters in the heart of this empire of Raymond. Hal first told of the kidnapping of the committee. This did not surprise the officials, he found. It was the thing the companies regularly did when there was threat of rebellion in the camps. That was why efforts to organize openly were so utterly hopeless. There was no chance for anything but a secret propaganda, maintained until every camp had the nucleus of an organization. So you can't back this strike, exclaimed Hal. Not possibly was Moylan's reply. It would be lost as soon as it was begun. There was no slightest hope of success until a lot of organization work had been done. But meantime, argued Hal, the union at North Valley will go to pieces. Perhaps, was the reply, we'll only have to start another. That's what the labor movement is like. Jim Moylan was young and saw Hal's mood. Don't misunderstand us, he cried. It's heartbreaking, but it's not in our power to help. We are charged with building up the union, and we know that if we supported everything that looked like a strike, we'd be bankrupt the first year. You can't imagine how often this same thing happens. Hardly a month we're not called on to handle such a situation. I can see what you mean, said Hal, but I thought that in this case, right after the disaster with the men so stirred, the young Irishman smiled, rather sadly. You're new at this game, he said. If a mind disaster was enough to win a strike, God knows our job would be easy. In Borela, just down the canyon from you, they've had three big explosions. They've killed over 500 men in the past year. Hal began to see how, in his inexperience, he had lost his sense of proportion. He looked at the two labor leaders and recalled the picture of such a person which he had brought with him to North Valley, a hot-headed and fiery agitator, luring honest working men from their jobs. But here was the situation exactly reversed. Here was he in a blaze of excitement, and two labor leaders turning the fire hose on him. They sat quiet and business-like, pronouncing a doom upon the slaves of North Valley, back to their black dungeons with them. What can we tell the men, he asked, making an effort to repress his chagrin. We can only tell them what I'm telling you, that we're helpless, till we've got the whole district organized. Meantime they have to stand the gaff, they must do what they can to keep an organization. But all the active men will be fired. No, not quite all, they seldom get them all. Here the stolid old German put in. In the last year the company had turned out more than 6,000 men because of union activity or suspicion of it. 6,000, echoed Howe, you mean from this one district? That's what I mean. But there aren't more than twelve or fifteen thousand men in the district. I know that. Then how can you ever keep an organization? The other answered quietly. They treat the new men the same as they treated the old. Howe thought suddenly of John Edstrom's aunts. Here they were, building their bridge, building it again and again, as often as floods might destroy it. They had not the swift impatience of a youth of the leisure class, accustomed to having his own way, accustomed to thinking of freedom and decency and justice as necessities of life. Much as Howe learned from the conversation of these men, he learned more from their silences. The quiet, matter-of-fact way they took things which had driven him beside himself with indignation. He began to realize what it would mean to stand by his pledge to those poor devils in North Valley. He would need more than one blaze of excitement. He would need brains and patience and discipline. He would need years of study and hard work. End of Section 19. Section 20. Howe found himself forced to accept the decision of the labor leaders. They had had experience. They could judge the situation. The miners would have to go back to work, and Cartwright and Alex Stone and Jeff Cotton would drive them as before. All that the rebels could do was to try to keep a secret organization in the camp. Jerry Minetti mentioned Jack David. He had gone back this morning without having seen the labor leaders, so he might escape suspicion and keep his job and help the union work. How about you? asked Howe. I suppose you've cooked your goose. Jerry had never heard this phrase, but he got its meaning. Sure thing, said he, cooked him plenty.  I haven't learned to recognize them yet. Well, you will, if you stay at this business. There hasn't been a minute since our office was opened that we haven't had half a dozen on the other side of the street. Every man that comes to see us is followed back to his camp and fired that same day. They've broken into my desk at night and stolen my letters and papers. They've threatened us with death a hundred times. I don't see how you make any headway at all. They can never stop us. They thought when they broke into my desk they'd get a list of our organizers, but you see I carry the lists in my head. No small task, either, put in Moylan. Would you like to know how many organizers we have at work? Ninety-seven, and they haven't caught a single one of them. Howe heard him, amazed. Here was a new aspect of the labor movement. This quiet, resolute old duchy, whom you might have taken for a delicatessen proprietor. This merry-eyed Irish boy, whom you would have expected to be escorting a lady to a fireman's ball, they were captains of an army of sappers who were undermining the towers of Peter Harrigan's fortress of greed. Hartman suggested that Jerry might take a chance at this sort of work. He would surely be fired from North Valley, so he might as well send word to his family to come to Pedro. In this way, he might save himself to work as an organizer, because it was the custom of these company spotters to follow a man back to his camp and there identify him. If Jerry took a train for western city, they would be thrown off the track, and he might get into some new camp and do organizing among the Italians. Jerry accepted this proposition with alacrity. It would put off the evil day when Rosa and her little ones would be left to the mercy of chance. They were still talking when the telephone rang. It was Hartman's secretary in Sheridan reporting that he had just heard from the kidnapped committee. The entire party, eight men and Mary Burke, had been taken to Horton, a station not far up the line, and put on the train with many dire threats. But they had left the train at the next stop and declared their intention of coming to Pedro. They were due at the hotel very soon. Hal desired to be present at this meeting, and went downstairs to tell his brother. There was another dispute, of course. Edward reminded Hal that the scenery of Pedro had a tendency to monotony, to which Hal could only answer by offering to introduce his brother to his friends. They were men who could teach Edward much if he would consent to learn. He might attend the session with the committee, eight men and a woman who had ventured an act of heroism and been made the victims of a crime. Or were they boars, as Edward might be thinking? There was blue-eyed Tim Rafferty, for example, a silent, smutty-faced gnome who had broken out of his black cavern and spread unexpected golden wings of oratory. And Mary Burke, of whom Edward might read in that afternoon's edition of the Western City Gazette, a Joan of Arc of the Coal Camps, or something equally picturesque. But Edward's mood was not to be enlivened. He had a vision of his brother's appearance in the paper as the companion of this hibernian Joan. Hal went off with Jerry Minetti to what his brother described as a hash house, while Edward proceeded in solitary state to the dining-room of the American hotel. But he was not left in solitary state. Pretty soon a sharp-faced young man was ushered to a seat beside him and started up a conversation. He was a drummer, he said. His line was hardware. What was Edward's? Edward answered coldly that he had no line, but the young man was not rebuffed. Apparently his line had hardened his sensibilities. Perhaps Edward was interested in coal mines? Had he been visiting the camps? He questioned so persistently and came back so often to the subject that at last it dawned over Edward what this meant. He was receiving the attention of a spotter. Strange to say, the circumstance caused Edward more irritation against Peter Harrigan's regime than all his brother's eloquence about oppression at North Valley. End of Section 20. Soon after dinner the kidnapped committee arrived, bedraggled in body and weary in soul. They inquired for Johann Hartmann and were sent up to the room where there followed a painful scene. Eight men and a woman who had ventured an act of heroism and been made the victims of a crime could not easily be persuaded to see their efforts and sacrifices thrown on the dump heap, nor were they timid in expressing their opinions of those who were betraying them. You've been trying to get us out, cried Tim Rafferty. Ever since I can remember you've been at my old man to help you, and here when we do what you ask you throw us down. We never ask you to go on strike, said Moelyn. No, that's true.  Our salaries aren't very fat, replied the young leader patiently. You'd find that out if you investigated.  We're on the streets, we're done for.  I've got an old mother and a lot of brothers and sisters, and my old man done up and can't work. What do you think's to become of us? We'll help you out a little, Rafferty.  I don't want your help. And I need charity, I'll go to the county. There are another bunch of grafters, but they don't pretend to be friends to the working man. Here was the thing Tom Olson had told Hal at the outset. The working men be deviled, not knowing whom to trust, suspecting the very people who most desire to help them. Tim, he put in, there's no use talking like that. We have to learn patience. And the boy turned upon Hal. What do you know about it?  You can go off and forget it when you get ready. You've got money, they tell me. Hal felt no resentment at this. It was what he heard from his own conscience. It isn't so easy for me as you think, Tim. There are other ways of suffering besides not having money. Such sufferin' you'll do with your rich folks, sneered Tim. There was a murmur of protest from others of the committee. Good God, Rafferty, broke in Moylan. We can't help it, man, we're just as helpless as you. You say you're helpless, but you don't even try. Try? Do you want us to back a strike that we know hasn't a chance?  We can't win, man. I tell you, we can't win. We'd only be throwin' away our organization. Moylan became suddenly impassioned. He had seen a dozen sporadic strikes in this district, and many a dozen young strikers, homeless, desolate, embittered, turning their disappointment on him. We might support you with our funds, you say. We might go on doing it, even while the company ran the mine with scabs. But where would that land us, Rafferty? I seen many a union on the rocks, and I ain't so old, either. If we had a bank, we'd support all the miners of the country. They'd never need to work again till they got their rights. But this money we spend is the money that other miners are earnin'. Right now, down in the pits, Rafferty, the same as you and your old man. They give us this money, and they say, use it to build up the union. Use it to help the men that aren't organized.  But don't waste it, for God's sake. We have to work hard to make it, and if we don't see results, you'll get no more out of us. Don't you see how that is, man, and how it weighs on us, worse even than the fear that maybe we'll lose our poor salaries, though you might refuse to believe anything so good of us? You don't need to talk to me like I was Peter Harrigan's son. I was a sprager when I was ten years old, and I ain't been out of the pits so long that I forgot the feeling. I assure you, the thing that keeps me awake at night ain't the fear of not getting the livin', for I give myself a bit of education, working nights, and I know I could always turn out and earn what I need. But it's wondering whether I'm spendin' the miners money the best way, whether maybe I mightn't save them a little misery if I hadn't had done this or had done that. When I come down on that sleeper last night, here's what I was thinking, Tim Rafferty. All the time I listened to the train bumping. Now I got to see some more of the suffering. I got to let some good men turn against us, because they can't see why we should get salaries while they get the sack. How am I going to show them that I'm working for them, working as hard as I know how, and that I'm not to blame for their trouble? Here Warhawk broke in. There's no use talking any more. I see we're up against it. We'll not trouble you, Moylan. You trouble me, cried Moylan, unless you stand by the movement. The other laughed bitterly. You'll never know what I do, it's the road for me, and you know it. Well, wherever you go it'll be the same. Either you'll be fighting for the union, or you'll be a weight that we have to carry. The young leader turned from one to another of the committee, pleading with them not to be embittered by this failure, but to turn it to their profit, going on with the work of building up the solidarity of the miners. Every man had to make his sacrifices, to pay his part of the price. The thing of importance was that every man who was discharged should be a spark of unionism, carrying the flame of revolt to a new part of the country. Let each one do his part, and there would soon be no place to which the masters could send for scabs. End of Section XXI. Section XXII. There was one member of this committee whom Howe watched with a special anxiety. Mary Burke. She had not yet said a word. While the others argued and protested, she sat with her lips set and her hands clenched. Howe knew what rage this failure must bring to her. She had risen and struggled and hoped, and the result was what she had always said it would be—nothing. Now he saw her, with eyes large and dark with fatigue, fixed on this fiery young labor-leader. He knew that a war must be going on within her. Would she drop out entirely now? It was the test of her character, as it was the test of the characters of all of them. If only we're strong enough and brave enough, Jim Moylan was saying, we can use our defeats to educate our people and bring them together. Right now, if we can make the men at North Valley see what we're doing, they won't go back beaten, they won't be bitter against the union, they'll only go back to wait. And ain't that a way to beat the bosses, to hold our jobs and keep the union alive till we've got into all the camps and can strike and win? There was a pause. Then Mary spoke. How are you meanin' to tell the men? Her voice was without emotion, but nevertheless Howe's heart leaped. Whether Mary had any hope or not, she was going to stay in line with the rest of the ants. Johann Hartmann explained his idea. He would have circulars printed in several languages and distributed secretly in the camp, ordering the men back to work. But Jerry met this suggestion with a prompt no. The people would not believe the circulars. They would suspect the bosses of having them printed. Had the bosses done worse than that, framing up a letter from Joe Smith to balk the Czech Weyman movement, the only thing that would help would be for some of the committee to get into the camp and see the men face to face. And it got to be quick, Jerry insisted. They get noticed to work in mourning, and them that don't be fired. They be the best men, too, men we want to save. Other members of the committee spoke up, agreeing with this, said Rusic, the Slav, slow-witted and slow-spoken.  And Zemakis, the Greek, quick and nervous. We say strike, we got to say no strike. What could they do? There was, in the first place, the difficulty of getting away from the hotel, which was being watched by the spotters. Hartman suggested that if they went out altogether and scattered, the detectives could not follow all of them. Those who escaped might get into North Valley by hiding in the empties which went up to the mine. But Moylan pointed out that the company would be anticipating this, and Rusic, who had once been a hobo, put in, They sure searched them cars. They give us plenty hell, too, when they catch us. Yes, it would be a dangerous mission. Mary spoke again. Maybe a lady could do it better. They beat a lady, said Meneti. I know, but maybe a lady might fool them. There's some widows that came to Pedro for the funerals, and their wear and veils that hide their faces. I might pretend to be one of them and get into the camp. The men looked at one another. There was an idea. The scowl which had stayed upon the face of Tim Rafferty, ever since his quarrel with Moylan, gave place suddenly to a broad grin. I seen Mrs. Zamboni on the street, said he.  And here Hal spoke for the first time since Tim Rafferty had silenced him. Does anybody know where to find Mrs. Zamboni? She stayed with my friend Mrs. Swajka, said Rusic. Well, said Hal, there's something you people don't know about this situation. After they had fired you, I made another speech to the men, and made them swear they'd stay on strike. So now I've got to go back and eat my words. If we're relying on veils and things, a man can be fixed up as well as a woman. They were staring at him.  No, said Hal, I don't think so. Anyhow, it's up to me, he glanced at Tim Rafferty, because I'm the only one who doesn't have to suffer for the failure of our strike. There was a pause. I'm sorry I said that, cried Tim impulsively. That's all right, old man, replied Hal. What you said is true, and I'd like to do something to ease my conscience. He rose to his feet, laughing. I'll make a peach of a widow, he said. I'm going up and have a tea party with my friend Jeff Cotton. End of Section 22. Section 23 Hal proposed going to find Mrs. Zamboni at the place where she was staying. But Moylan interposed, objecting that the detectives would surely follow him. Even though they should all go out of the hotel at once, the one person the detective would surely stick to was the arch-rebel and troublemaker Joe Smith. Finally they decided to bring Mrs. Zamboni to the room. Let her come with Mrs. Swajka, or some other woman who spoke English, and go to the desk and ask for Mary Burke, explaining that Mary had borrowed money from her, and that she had to have it to pay the undertaker for the burial of her man. The hotel clerk might not know who Mary Burke was, but the watchful spotters would gather about and listen, and if it was mentioned that Mary was from North Valley, someone would connect her with the kidnapped committee. This was made clear to Roussik, who hurried off, and in the course of half an hour, returned with the announcement that the women were on the way. A few minutes later came a tap on the door, and there stood the black-garbed old widow with her friend. She came in, and then came looks of dismay and horrified exclamations. Roussik was requesting her to give up her weeds to Joe Smith. She says she don't got nothing else, explained the slob. Tell her I give her plenty money, buy more, said Hal. Aye, J. Sue! cried Mrs. Zamboni, pouring out a sputtering torrent. She says she don't got nothing to put on. She says it ain't good to go no clothes. Hasn't she got on a petticoat? She say petticoat got holes. There was a burst of laughter from the company, and the old woman turned scarlet from her forehead to her ample throat. Tell her she wrap up in blankets, said Hal, Mary Burke buy her new things. It proved surprisingly difficult to separate Mrs. Zamboni from her widow's weeds, which she had purchased with so great an expenditure of time and tears. Never had a respectable lady, who had borne sixteen children, received such a proposition to sell the insignia of her grief, and here, in a hotel room, crowded with a dozen men. Nor was the task made easier by the unseemly merriment of the men. Aye, J. Sue! cried Mrs. Zamboni again. Tell her it's very, very important, said Hal. Tell her I must have them. And then, seeing that Roussik was making poor headway, he joined in, in the compromise English one learns in the camps. Got to have, sure thing, got to hide, quick, get away from boss, see? Get killed if no go! So at last the frightened old woman gave way. She say, all turn backs, said Roussik. And everybody turned, laughing in hilarious whispers, while, with Mary Burke and Mrs. Swachka for a shield, Mrs. Zamboni got out of her waist and skirt, putting a blanket round her red shoulders for modesty's sake. When Hal put the garments on, there was a foot to spare all round. But after they had stuffed two bed pillows down in the front of him, and drawn them tight at the waistline, the disguise was judged more satisfactory. He put on the old lady's ample, if ragged shoes, and Mary Burke set the widow's bonnet on his head and adjusted the many veils. After that Mrs. Zamboni's own brood of children would not have suspected the disguise. It was a merry party for a few minutes. Worn and hopeless as Mary had seemed, she was possessed now by the spirit of fun. But then quickly the laughter died, the time for action had come. Mary Burke said that she would stay with what was left of Mrs. Zamboni to answer the door in case any of the hotel people or the detectives should come. Hal asked Jim Moylan to see Edward, and say that Hal was writing a manifesto to the North Valley workers, and would not be ready to leave until the midnight train. These things agreed upon. Hal shook hands all round, and the eleven men left the room at once, going downstairs and through the lobby, scattering in every direction on the streets. Mrs. Swajka and the pseudo Mrs. Zamboni followed a minute later, and, as they anticipated, found the lobby swept clear of detectives. End of Section 23.


It's like, come on man, take a hint. In 2007, a meta-filter user posted a rant about how a dissent acquaintance had asked if she could stay in his family's small apartment while she was visiting his city for work. He expressed frustration at the presumption of making such a request without any hint that it might be okay, and petitioned other forum members for help in crafting a polite excuse to get out of hosting her. Some responded with commiseration for his predicament, but others expressed confusion. I mean, she was asking, wasn't she? Surely if his answer was no, he could just say no. One user, Tangerine, observed that these responses seemed to stem from two distinct understandings of how favors ought to work, terming them guest culture and ask culture. In some situations, we only ask someone for a favor once it's been fairly well-signaled that they're probably amenable to it, once we can guess that they'll say yes. In other situations, we feel comfortable asking for something bluntly, expecting that if the person we're asking doesn't feel up to it, they'll just say no. If you're having dinner with a partner, it's usually totally fine to ask if they want to split entrees, and it's totally fine for them to turn you down. But if you get down on one knee in front of a group of friends and ask them to marry you with the same uncertainty as to their response, you're probably going to have a bad time.  Where those thresholds are set depends a lot on what sort of culture you live in. Low-context cultures, like the U.S. and Germany, tend to focus on direct and unqualified communication, where the words used in this statement are all you need to know to understand its meaning. In a low-context culture, you might ask to stay at someone's place and get a response like, absolutely not, you snore and it's annoying. Ouch. Not likely to make you popular with anyone listening, but literally true, and you did ask. High-context cultures, on the other hand, as seen in China or Africa, tend to pull in the shared history and social status of the people interacting while they're communicating, relying on subtle cues conveyed by norms and implication, often to save face. Depending on the elements surrounding what's being said, the explicit language used might not be important at all. In a high-context culture, you might never mention staying over at someone's place, but they recognize your predicament and invite you. You poetly decline. They invite you again, saying it would be rude of you to refuse, so you finally agree, and they're upset with you for accepting. You're probably from a lower-context culture, so that amount of social theater might sound agonizingly inefficient, but even in the lowest-context cultures, we follow similar norms of indirect communication, hinting to someone that their fly is down instead of announcing it to the room, offering a glass of water to someone who looks especially drunk. There are at least two ways of interpreting these phenomena. Maybe all these polite flourishes are just frilly nonsense, diluting the meaning of speech and wasting our precious time by failing to get to the point. Maybe we've all been languishing in an unnecessary mire of confusing inanity and face-saving indirectness when we could be getting things done with more accurate speech. On the other hand, maybe there's something useful happening outside of raw information transfer, something that justifies those seeming inefficiencies. In their paper, The Logic of Indirect Speech, Stephen Pinker and colleagues identify some notable strategic advantages to communicating in less explicit ways, which might help to explain why every culture seems to normalize at least some non-explicit speech. They build their model on a simple game-theoretic scenario, a coordination game, where the goal is to correctly predict and synchronize one's decisions with another player. Say you've been pulled over for speeding, and a police officer is in the process of writing you a ticket that you'd rather not have. It's possible that the officer would accept a bribe to let you off the hook, but it's also possible that he's a narc who'll penalize you even more for your breach of protocol. At first glance, your options aren't rosy. Either stay quiet and get stuck with the ticket, or take a huge gamble on the off chance that he'll take a bribe and let you go. But what if there was another way? What if you could communicate your desire to bribe the officer only if he might be interested? In this situation, indirect speech is a strategy that has better outcomes than either of the direct speech options.  Maybe something like, is there anything we can do here so I don't get a point on my record? Well, even an honest driver uninterested in a bribe might make that sort of statement, and the threshold for acting on it, either by taking the bribe or calling you on it without hard evidence, is different for straight and crooked cops. In a nutshell, the right kind of indirect speech gives you a leg up in your coordination game by changing the game for only a certain kind of player. But that doesn't really seem like it characterizes all indirect speech. It's not like hinting that your roommate should clean up the kitchen is an encoded message intended only for sympathetic roommates. Actually, the paper's author suggests that it's the same basic coordination game, but referred to a model known as politeness theory to explain what you're playing for. In this model, speech has two distinct goals, conveying the literal informational content of the words being said, and signaling certain social relationships between the people talking, things like dominance, communality, or reciprocity, each of which has a unique set of associated values and linguistic norms. Use a speech pattern for one relationship type in the wrong context, and it causes awkwardness. If the new hire at work starts bossing coworkers around, there's a mismatch between the expected social role of coworkers, reciprocity, and the role they're exhibiting, dominance. If you ask a friend to help you move and they demand payment for services rendered, they're subverting their established communal role in favor of reciprocity, and it's weird. In situations where social relationships aren't crystal clear, or a statement of a particular type might be construed as awkwardly violating an established role, indirect language plays similarly as in the bribing situation. It allows the speaker a third option, with a higher payoff than staying quiet, and with less risk than just saying something directly, although this time the risk is of impropriety and awkwardness instead of jail time. If you hint to your roommate that the dishes might stand washing, you can communicate the desire for them to do it without potentially coming off as a bossy boots. If your friend agrees easily to your request for moving help, and obliquely mentions that it's going to be a fair amount of gas money to get it done, you can maintain your communal relationship and still fork over some cash in a reciprocal fashion. But what about those situations where there's no uncertainty whatsoever about what's being implied? Or someone's communicating a very clear message, just using different words? The game theory model might work when there's some amount of reasonable uncertainty as to your intent, but if everyone knows exactly what's being said anyways, what's the point? Well, the paper's authors note that we tend to think of language as an all-or-nothing phenomenon. Either we say something, or we don't. Either it's true, or it's not. That perception makes indirect speech a useful tool even when it's obvious what's being said, or, you know, not said. We talked a little about common knowledge back in episode 150, the idea that there's a huge difference between everyone knowing a thing and everyone knowing that everyone knows it. The slightest theoretical possibility that someone might not have put two and two together for some bit of indirect speech circumvents that common knowledge element. After all, nobody's said it out loud yet. Maybe it went over someone's head. Because of our perception of language as being such a binary thing, that allows us to create shared personal knowledge without making it common knowledge, which, in turn, allows certain exchanges without social consequence. If I bluntly ask, could you share this episode with your friends, and you say, no, sorry, it's not that good. There's a sting to that. Everyone who saw that interaction would be like, oh, snap, Josh just got shot down. On the other hand, if I say, you know, the share button's right down there, and you play dumb, like, oh, thanks for that. I know they moved it around a bit in the last redesign. Why do they keep doing that? It's perfectly clear to anyone with half a brain what just happened, but it doesn't have the same social fallout that it would in the first case. After all, nothing was explicitly said, and if someone wasn't paying attention, it might have gone unnoticed, so we can just play it off like it didn't happen. It's a way to preserve harmony in situations that would otherwise demand some sort of reshuffling of social roles and relationships. That tiny sliver of plausible deniability can be seen operating in high-context cultures and they're disdained for direct confrontation. It's very rare that anyone has to deal with the social consequences of being told off. With the observations raised in this paper, it becomes clear why that original metafilter poster might feel uncomfortable and frustrated, with an acquaintance boldly asking to stay at his place without any indirect hinting or implication that it might be okay. She's not offering any sort of payment or exchange for the favor, so she's appealing to a relationship of commonality, which he obviously doesn't feel as appropriate. Awkward. She's asking explicitly, which means that he has to work extra hard to come up with a suitably face-preserving way to say no. Sure, it's a more straightforward transaction, and if her only concern was getting a fast yes or no so she could get on with planning her trip, maybe that's all it needed to be, but she can probably bet on getting a lot more nos than if she tried asking more indirectly, especially with guest culture folks. So, indirect speech provides numerous strategic advantages over explicit, straightforward speech in some situations, even if it's less efficient. That's not to say that it's always warranted or that there's no benefit to directness. For many people, trying to puzzle out what's not laid bare is frustrating, maybe even impossible, but understanding the benefits of well-executed subtlety might make it a little less frustrating when someone won't come right out and say something. Do you find the logic of indirect speech a compelling enough justification for communication that might appear simply inefficient? Did you know that there's a Thunk Patreon and Discord server? Please leave a comment below and let me know what you think. Thank you very much for watching. Don't forget to… Okay, come on back. I've got one more thing. I've been trying for a week now to find some sort of literature that directly tests the idea, but decision theory research is over here, and linguistics research is over there, and sociology research is in the third place. It's just very hard to find what I'm looking for. I have another possible explanation for the ubiquitous nature of indirect speech that isn't about strategic advantage for the individual using it, but more about effective coordination of groups. In computer modeling, there are certain questions that are just too hard to calculate directly. Take the traveling salesman problem. Given a set of interconnected towns, find the shortest complete loop that goes through each town only once. The computational complexity of that problem scales insanely quickly. Once you have more than a handful of towns, the universe will burn itself out before any supercomputer could get close to finding an answer. Among these sorts of impossibly difficult computation problems are multi-dimensional optimization problems. Given a number of individuals, each with a handful of discrete preferences and priorities, possibly including the satisfaction of other individuals, finding the one decision that results in the greatest possible satisfaction for everyone is simply impossible. But researchers have found sneaky ways to get around these computationally intractable problems, using a technique called relaxation. Instead of trying to solve the problem exactly as stated, they calculate answers of simpler related problems. Relaxing the constraints slightly to make the result exponentially easier to compute. Rather than trying to brute force our way through the traveling salesman problem, what if we allow backtracking, visiting towns more than once with a small penalty for cheating? All of a sudden, the problem becomes fantastically easy. Computers can return results in milliseconds rather than eons. The results aren't precisely what we're after, of course, but they provide substantial insight into the original problem, defining upper and lower bounds on what the exact answer might be. The same principle could be applied to multi-dimensional optimization problems. By relaxing discrete preferences into fuzzy suggestions, rather than finding the single truly optimal value of the problem, sometime after the sun goes supernova, we can get an answer that's probably pretty close to our theoretical maximum almost instantly. That approach bears a remarkable resemblance to the indirect dancing people do in groups when they're trying to reach a consensus. They hint at their own preferences. They quickly back away from suggestions that don't seem to resonate with the group. They search for subtle indications that others might be thinking what they're thinking. Everyone's desires exist in a vague probability cloud rather than explicit statements. When someone comes right out and says, I want to do this, it's not uncommon that people will sigh in frustration rather than welcoming it as a helpful data point. Now, the fuzzy convergence they were working towards has to happen around this discrete constraint of one person's overt preference. And that process is hamstrung by absolutely needing to take that preference into account in their solution, which will now probably take longer. Anyways, I haven't been able to find either a confirmation or a refutation of this concept in the literature. I have a buttload of papers linked in the video description, if you want to try your hand at chasing down something more concrete. Or, if you're a grad student in one of those fields looking for a pretty cool cross-disciplinary thesis, I put together some citations for you. Either way, I'd welcome any commentary on the idea. Thank you very much for watching. Don't forget to blah, blah, subscribe, blah, share, and don't stop thunking.


This week is National Volunteer Week and we'd like to take this opportunity to say thank you to all of our volunteer members. The past few weeks have been a very testing time for the CFA and we acknowledge the impact that this has had on our members. There has been a difficult time with periods of uncertainty. Now, more than ever, is a time for us to stand together as one. It is vital that we keep our focus on protecting lives and properties of those 3.3 million Victorians who look to us for help. It is also vital that we respect all CFA members and their roles in providing an integrated service for the community. CFA volunteers are the fabric of our organisation and of our communities. This week, National Volunteer Week, gives us time to pause and reflect on their dedication, commitment, not only now but through history. I know that every one of our brigades could tell you hundreds, if not thousands of stories that show the spirit, skills and camaraderie of its people. These are the stories that shape CFA and as leaders, this is what makes us proud to be part of who we are and what we do. So once again, thank you for your time and commitment and for actually keeping our communities safe.


Friends, the pandemic has once again shown that India's pharma industry is an asset not just for India but for the entire world. It has played a leading role in reducing the cost of medicines especially for developing countries. Businesses made in India are responsible for two-third of the vaccine needs of the world's children. Today also, our companies are active in international efforts for development and production of COVID-19 vaccine. I am certain that India will have an important role in developing and in scaling up production of the vaccine once it is discovered.


Hello, I'm Patty Anderson from Dell Core Systems. As a chairwoman of PMMI, I am pleased to take this opportunity to review a few highlights from last year, which was PMMI's 90th year as the Association of Packaging and Processing Technologies. Throughout 2023, PMMI connected the industry and served as a critical link, bringing together thought leaders and resources to advance our industry and help grow it stronger. The industry came together in record numbers at PAC Expo trade shows in 2023, beginning with a record-setting Expo PAC Guadalajara and continuing with PAC Expo Las Vegas. The PMMI ProSource, our online member directory, has grown into a key industry resource, helping customers connect with our growing membership of over 1,000 members, 365 days a year. And we gave out over 800,000 in scholarships and matching funds to help secure the future of our industry. PMMI Business Intelligence released 19 new reports, white papers, and quickie surveys, and are unpacked with PMMI podcasts produced 55 episodes to keep all of us ahead of the trends driving our businesses. These are just a few of PMMI's 2023 accomplishments. I invite you to review our 2023 highlights and learn many more ways PMMI connects you with your customers. I would like to personally thank PMMI's leadership, our executive committee, board of directors, committee chairs, and committee members for sharing their knowledge, expertise, and talents to help our association move forward in 2023 and enable us to serve you, our members. I look forward to opportunities to connect in 2024, especially at Pack Expo East in March, Pack Expo Mexico in June, and Pack Expo International in November. And we are really looking forward to the first ever Pack Expo Southeast in March 2025.


It's a really honor privilege to be here. India, of course, has had tremendous economic growth for the last decade under Prime Minister Modi, and we're looking forward to continuing that impressive track record. And of course, energy is very central to sustaining and enhancing India's energy growth. And so that's one point. I think also what we see is that from an energy market perspective globally, India is very much at the center of the global markets today. The conference was a great opportunity for us all to share ideas. I think Prime Minister Modi has a very clear vision of where he's taking the country. It's a very inspiring vision. He has a remarkable understanding and appreciation for the challenges facing the energy industry and the relevance of energy to India.


Our diverse communities are something to be proud of in Wales and councillors can better serve their area's needs by working with them to make their community somewhere for everyone to enjoy and feel part of. If a councillor is acting in a way that doesn't seem right, there are people who will want to know and processes in place to support you if you want to make a complaint. Raising issues when things seem wrong help us make positive change in our communities. You have a right to be listened to and respected when bringing up your concerns. The first step for your complaint is to contact the Public Services Ombudsman for Wales, PSOW. They'll look at the evidence and decide whether the Code of Conduct has been breached and whether to investigate. If the PSOW decides there is a case for investigation, depending on how serious the complaint is, they'll pass the evidence on to either the Council Standards Committee for Rejudication or the Independent Adjudication Panel for Wales, where witnesses will give evidence at a formal hearing. They'll then decide if the councillor needs to be sanctioned and take appropriate action. That might mean they're suspended or even banned from being a councillor for up to five years. What you have to say is important and the PSOW will want to hear about it. We're all an integral part of our communities and together we can help make sure everyone who works on the public's behalf acts to the highest possible standards. There are people ready and waiting to talk to you if something's not right, just reach out. For information on how to make a complaint, please visit the PSOW's website.


Burberry, does it really help with weight loss? Well, you probably heard the news that two of the major weight loss companies, Weight Watchers, and Noom, have decided to market those miracle weight loss prescription drugs as part of their program. Well, that's big news. And I'm not going to mention the names of those drugs, the names that will not be spoken here. But let's get this clear. Those weight loss drugs work by suppressing your appetite, by stopping gastric emptying so that you always feel full, and oh, by the way, at least 40 to 45% of the weight loss those drugs make no mistake, they do produce weight loss, is from muscle loss, muscle mass reduction. And if you follow anything about aging, you want to keep your muscles. In fact, keeping your muscles is one of the hallmarks of successful aging. So, yeah, great. I'm glad everybody loses weight on the drugs that will not be named. But weight loss as a goal should not include the loss of nearly 50% of your muscle mass. Okay, so enter berberine. And berberine has gotten a lot of interest as maybe the poor man's natural alternative to these weight loss drugs. And there is some evidence that berberine can act as a GLP-1 inhibitor, which is what these drugs do. But berberine is much more than that. In fact, I am a huge fan of berberine, so much so that berberine is an ingredient in many of my products here at Gundry MD. So I'm a big fan, and I know a lot about how berberine works. And it's so much more than just a natural alternative to these prescription drugs. First of all, berberine is a compound in several plants. Oregon grape root, which is totally different than grape seed extract. It's present in barberry, it's present in several compounds. It is a polyphenol, son of a gun. And berberine is actually one of the most potent mitochondrial uncouplers that's ever been discovered. Now, if you've read the energy paradox, if you've read unlocking the keto code, if you read the upcoming gut check, you'll know that uncoupling mitochondria is one of the long-term keys to long-term health. Number two, you know that uncoupling mitochondria is doing a caloric bypass on energy metabolism.  And if you're wasting calories, you will lose weight. So let's get this straight. Berberine first and foremost, and you won't see this on the internet, is a potent mitochondrial uncoupler. And that's why I really like it. What else does it do? Well, berberine is known to activate an enzyme called AMPK. Now, AMPK is one of the major regulators of metabolism and energy expenditure in the body. By stimulating AMPK, berberine can actually enhance fat burning and increase calorie expenditure, regardless of the fact that it's a mitochondrial uncoupler. That means you are more efficient at metabolism and will support your weight loss efforts. It also has been shown to reduce blood sugar. It controls blood sugar and it also reduces insulin levels. Now, let's back up to insulin. Insulin is the hormone that literally handles the sugars and the proteins that you ingest. And simplistically, insulin is a salesperson that sells sugar and protein to your muscles. And if your muscles are hungry, then insulin has a really easy job of selling the sugar and protein you ate to your muscles. They basically go, yeah, yeah, yeah, I love what you're selling. I want to buy it. On the other hand, most Americans, even 50% of normal weight Americans are insulin resistant. 88% of overweight Americans are insulin resistant. 99.5% will obese Americans are insulin resistant. That means that they do not listen to the sales pitch that insulin is making and they are resistant to the sales pitch. That means that you make more insulin and more insulin to try to convince your muscles to take the sugar and protein out of your blood. And unfortunately, that doesn't happen. And that's why your blood sugar goes up. That's why your hemoglobin A1C goes up. That's why your fasting insulin goes up. That's why you are insulin resistant. So what?   And that's the catch 22. The more of the stuff you eat, the more insulin you make, the more fat you deposit, and the more insulin you need to keep things happening. And that's what's so bad about our current diet. So, berberine drops insulin levels and drops blood sugar. It's a great way to start.  Now, it can also reduce the expression of genes involved in fat production and can also increase the expression of genes involved in fat breakdown, which can promote weight loss. So, berberine has got like a three-mode approach in producing the weight loss that you're looking for in these prescription drugs that are now so wildly popular that two weight loss programs are going to use them. And that goes counter to everything that we want to do for long-term good health. Now, drug companies know this. Drug companies want you to be a consumer for life. They're not peddling quick fix solutions. If a quick fix solution was useful, I can assure you drug companies would not be interested in this. They want you, these companies that are going to use this drug, to be a customer for life. And that's the last thing any of us want for good health. We want good health for life without the aid of pharmaceuticals. And that's what I've devoted the last 25 years of my practice and my research to giving you other options. And that's why berberine is a part of my armamentarium in a number of my products, because it's going to give you the benefits from a natural compound without the drawbacks of being addicted to a pharmaceutical for life. More amazing episodes just like this one. Watch now. Supplements are great for you as long as you know what the dose you really need to have an effective.