"It is just such men as you, Mr.Hartrath, that are the ruin of us.

You organise a sham of tinsel and pasteboard, put on fool's cap and bells, beat a gong at a street corner, and the crowd cheers you and drops nickels into your hat.
Your ginger-bread fete; yes, I saw it in full blast the other night on the grounds of one of your women's places on Sutter Street.

I was on my way home from the last board meeting of the Atlas Company.

A gingerbread fete, my God! and the Atlas plant shutting down for want of financial backing.

A million dollars spent to attract the Eastern investor, in order to show him an abandoned rolling mill, wherein the only activity is the sale of remnant material and scrap steel." Lyman, however, interfered.