You never can tell.

And those infernal Socialists, always at it, night and day, never letting up, flinging firebrands into the powder magazine! _Sometime_ there's going to be one hell of a bang, Flint! And when it comes, _suave qui peut_! So go slow, old man--go damned slow, that's all I've got to say!" "On the contrary," said Flint, blinking in the golden spring sunshine as he peered out over the swashing brine at a raucous knot of gulls, "on the contrary, Wally, I'm going to push it as fast as the Lord will let me.

You can come in, or not, as you see fit--but remember this, no quitter ever gets a daughter of mine! And another thing; we're in the year 1921, now, not 1910 or 1915.

Developments, political and otherwise, have moved swiftly, these few years past.

Then, there might have been trouble.