Fulkerson did not know what to say, perhaps because the extras did not; but March laughed at this result.
"It's a good deal like the military manoeuvre of the King of France and his forty thousand men.

I suppose somebody told him at the top of the hill that there was nothing to arbitrate, and to get out and go about his business, and that was the reason he marched down after he had marched up with all that ceremony.

What amuses me is to find that in an affair of this kind the roads have rights and the strikers have rights, but the public has no rights at all.

The roads and the strikers are allowed to fight out a private war in our midst as thoroughly and precisely a private war as any we despise the Middle Ages for having tolerated--as any street war in Florence or Verona--and to fight it out at our pains and expense, and we stand by like sheep and wait till they get tired.

It's a funny attitude for a city of fifteen hundred thousand inhabitants." "What would you do ?" asked Fulkerson, a good deal daunted by this view of the case.
"Do?
Nothing.