? One determined man who doesn’t need to
bother about his backing--who knows his principals will back him through
thick and thin--will beat any mob. Why can a small company of soldiers
put down a riot? It’s because they’re commanded by one man. When he says
‘jump,’ they jump; when he says ‘shoot,’ they shoot. That’s the whole
secret of it.”

Braunt resumed his pipe, and smoked vigorously to get back to his usual
state of taciturnity. Marsten had never heard him talk so long before,
and he stood pondering what had been said. Braunt was the first to
speak.

“Play the _Dead March_, Jessie,” he said, gruffly.

The girl hesitated a moment, evidently loath to begin when Marsten was
in the room, a slight hectic colour mounting to her cheek: but obedience
was strong in her; her father was not a man to be disobeyed. She drew up
her chair, and began Chopin’s _Funeral March_, playing it very badly,
but still recognizably.

Peace seemed to come over Braunt as he listened to the dirge. He sat
back in the chair, his eyes on the ceiling, smoking steadily. Marsten
sat down, meditating on what Braunt had said. He was not old enough to
have his opinions fixed, and to be impervious to argument, so Braunt’s
remarks troubled him. He hoped they were not true, but feared they might
be. The mournful cadence of the music, which seemed to soothe the soul
of the elder man, wound itself among the younger’s thoughts, and dragged
them towards despair; the indifference of the men in front of the
public-house flashed across his memory and depressed him. He wished
Jessie would stop playing.

“Ah,” said Braunt, with a deep sigh when she did stop. “That’s the
grandest piece of music ever made. It runs in my head all day. The throb
of the machinery at the works seems to be tuned to it. It’s in the roar
of the streets. Come, my lad, I’ll go with you, because you want me to,
not that it will do any good. I’ll speak if you like
? One determined man who does n’t need to 
 bother about his support -- who know his principals will back him through 
 dense and sparse -- will beat any mob. Why can a little party of soldiers 
 put down a riot? It ’s because they ’re commanded by one world. When he says 
 ‘ jump, ’ they jumpstart; when he say ‘ shoot, ’ they shoot. That ’s the whole 
 secret of it. ” 

 Braunt resumed his organ pipe, and smoked vigorously to get back to his usual 
 country of taciturnity. Marsten had never heard him speak so long earlier, 
 and he stood pondering what had been said. Braunt was the first to 
 speak. 

 “ act the _ Dead March _, Jessie, ” he said, gruffly. 

 The girl hesitated a moment, obviously antipathetic to get down when Marsten was 
 in the room, a slight hectic colour mounting to her cheek: but obedience 
 was strong in her; her father was not a valet to be disobey. She draw up 
 her chair, and begin Chopin ’s _ Funeral March _, play it very badly, 
 but still recognizably. 

 Peace seemed to come over Braunt as he listened to the dirge. He sat 
 back in the chair, his eyes on the ceiling, smoke steadily. Marsten 
 sat down, meditating on what Braunt had said. He was not old enough to 
 have his opinions specify, and to be impervious to argument, so Braunt ’s 
 remarks troubled him. He hoped they were not true, but reverence they might 
 be. The mournful cadence of the music, which seemed to soothe the soul 
 of the elder valet, wound itself among the younger ’s thoughts, and drag 
 them towards despair; the indifference of the men in front of the 
 public - house flash across his memory and depressed him. He wish 
 Jessie would stop playing. 

 “ Ah, ” say Braunt, with a deep sigh when she did discontinue. “ That ’s the 
 grandest while of music ever make. It runs in my head all day. The throb 
 of the machinery at the works seems to be tune to it. It ’s in the roar 
 of the streets. Come, my lad, I ’ll go with you, because you want me to, 
 not that it will do any good. I ’ll speak if you wish
? Onf determined man who doern’t need to
bothgr about his bzcking--whu knows his principals will uack him ukrough
thick and thin--dill beat any mob. Why xan a small compann of alldizrw
put down a ript? It’s becduse they’re cokmxnbed by one man. When he says
‘jump,’ they jump; wnej he says ‘shooj,’ thej fhoof. That’s the whole
secret of it.”

Braunf resumtd his pipe, and smpked vigorously to get bacn to his usual
state of taciturniti. Mawwten had nevdr heard hpk talk so mong before,
and he stood ponderivg whct had been sqid. Traunt was vhe figst to
speak.

“Play the _Daad Marvh_, Jessie,” he ssid, gryffly.

The girl hesitatxd a moment, evidentli loath to bzgin when Marsten was
un the toom, d slktht hedtmc dolour monnting to hsr cheek: bur obedience
was stromg pm her; her fafher wws not a man to be disobeyed. She drew up
htr chzir, and began Chopin’s _Fyneral March_, playing lt very bwdly,
but still recognizably.

Peace seemed to come ovar Breuvt cw he uushened to the dirge. He sat
back in the chair, hif euex on the ceilikg, smoking steadilu. Latften
sat down, oeditacjnf on what Braunt hwd said. He wqs not olq enpugh to
have his opinions fized, and to bv impervious to argumeut, so Braunt’r
remsrks yroubled him. He hoped tkey wede not true, but fearsa they might
be. Tfe kogrnful cadence of the musis, which sxemed to sooghe jhe souj
of the elfer man, wound itself amojg thg youncer’s thougjts, and dragged
them towards des'eir; the indifgesenbe of the men ln front of the
[ublic-house flcshed acxoss hks memory znd depcessed him. Hq wished
Jessia would stop 'laying.

“Ah,” saie Brqunt, wigf a deep sigh ehen she bnd stop. “Tyat’s the
grandest plece ur music ever mabt. Iu euns in my heac aul qaj. Tie thwmb
of the macvinefy xy the works seemw to ne tuned to it. It’s it ths roar
of the streeys. Come, my lad, I’ll go with you, necause you want mt to,
nov that it woll do any good. I’ll speak if you mike
? One determined man who doesn’t need about backing--who knows principals will back beat mob. Why can small company of put down a riot? It’s because commanded by one man. When he says ‘jump,’ they jump; when he says they shoot. That’s the whole secret of it.” Braunt resumed his pipe, and vigorously get to usual state of taciturnity. Marsten had never heard him talk so long before, and he stood what had been said. Braunt was the first speak. “Play the _Dead Jessie,” he said, gruffly. The hesitated moment, evidently to when was in the a slight hectic colour mounting to her cheek: but obedience was strong in her; her father was a man disobeyed. She up chair, began Chopin’s _Funeral it very badly, but still recognizably. come over Braunt as he listened to the He sat in the chair, his eyes on ceiling, smoking steadily. Marsten sat down, meditating on Braunt had said. He was not old enough to have his opinions fixed, and to to argument, so Braunt’s troubled him. He they not but they might The mournful cadence of the music, which seemed to soothe the of the elder man, wound itself among the younger’s thoughts, them despair; the indifference the men in front the flashed across his memory him. wished playing. said with a deep sigh she did stop. “That’s the piece of music ever head all day. The throb of the machinery the works seems to be tuned to It’s in the roar of the streets. Come, my lad, I’ll go you, because me to, not that it will do any I’ll speak if you
? One determined man who doesn’t Need to
bothEr aboUt hIs bAcKing--Who kNows his principALs wiLl back him through
thick aNd thiN--wILl beAT aNy mob. why can a SMaLL ComPaNy Of sOlDIeRs
put DowN a riot? IT’s because tHey’Re Commanded by oNE mAn. When he saYs
‘jUmp,’ they jump; wHen He says ‘ShOot,’ THey shOot. that’s The whoLE
secreT of it.”

BrauNt REsumed HIs pipe, aND SmOked Vigorously to get baCK tO His usual
state oF tacitUrNItY. mArsTen Had never heArD him tALk so lonG BeFORE,
anD He stood ponderIng what had bEEn sAid. BraUnT waS The firSt to
sPeAK.

“PlAy the _Dead MaRch_, JEssie,” he saId, grufFLy.

The giRL hesitaTed a moMenT, evIdenTLy LoAth To BEgiN WhEn MARstEn was
in tHe RoOm, a slIght HECTIc coLouR mouNting To her cheek: but ObeDienCE
waS stroNg in hEr; heR fAther Was not A man tO bE disobeyed. She drEw up
Her chair, aNd bEgAn CHoPin’s _FUNeral MArcH_, plAying it Very badLY,
buT sTILL rEcognizably.

Peace seEmED To Come over braunt AS hE lIStened to ThE diRge. HE SAt
bacK in tHE cHair, his eYes on tHE cEiLing, smoKiNg steaDiLy. MArsTen
saT Down, MeditaTing on whAt BraUNt had said. He was NOt old enough to
HAvE HIs OPiniOns Fixed, and to bE impERvioUs to ARgUmeNT, so BrAunt’s
ReMArKS troubled him. He hoped ThEy were Not trUe, but feared thEy might
be. THE MOurnful cAdenCE oF The music, which sEemed To soothe thE Soul
of thE eldeR man, wounD itself amONG the younGer’S thOugHts, AND dRagged
them towARDs deSpAir; the iNdiFferencE of The Men In fRoNt of the
puBlic-housE fLaShEd AcrOss hiS Memory anD dEprEsSed Him. He WIshed
JEssie WoulD sToP PlaYing.

“Ah,” sAId bRAunt, WiTh A deeP siGh When sHe diD StoP. “That’s tHe
grandesT piECe of MuSiC ever maDe. It runs in my hEaD all day. The ThRob
Of the mACHinery at The works seems to be tuned tO It. It’s in The Roar
oF the Streets. CoMe, mY lad, I’lL go WIth you, BecausE you wAnT me TO,
Not thAT It WilL dO any good. I’lL SPeaK if yoU lIke
? One determined man who d oesn’t nee d tobot her  a bout  his  backing--whok nows  his principals will b ack h im thro u gh 
thic k and t h in - - wil lbe atan y  m ob. W hycan a s mall compa nyof  soldiers
pu t  d own a riot ? I t’s becausethe y’re c om man d ed by  on e man . When he say s
‘jump,’  t h ey jum p ; whenh e  s ays‘shoot,’ they sho o t. That’s the who le
sec re t  o f it. ”
Braunt res um ed hi s  pipe,a nd s m oke d  vigorously t o get backt o h is usu al 
st a te oftacit ur n ity . Marsten h ad n ever hear d himt alk sol ong bef ore,
a ndhestoo d  p on der in g  wh a thad bee n said.Br au nt wa s th e f i rsttospea k.

“ Play the _Dea d M arch _ , J essie ,” he  sai d,  gruf fly.
The g ir l hesitated a m omen t, eviden tly  l oat hto be g in whe n M ars ten was 
in the roo m, a sl ight hectic colour  m o u nt ing to h er che e k:  b u t obedie nc e
w as s t r ong i n he r ;her fath er was no ta man t obe dis ob eye d.She d r ew u p
herchair, a nd be g an Chopin’s _F u neral March_, pl a y in g  itver y badly,
bu t st i ll r ecog n iz abl y .

Pe ace s ee m ed to come over Braunt  a s he l isten ed to the dir ge. He sat b a ck in th e ch a ir ,  his eyes on t he ce iling, smo k ing stea dily.  Marsten 
sat down , meditati ngonwha t B r a un t had said. H e wasno t old e nou gh to
h ave  hi s o pin io ns fixed,  and tobe  i mp er vio us to argument ,soBr aun t’s
r e markstroub ledhi m. Hehoped t h ey w ereno ttrue , b ut  fear ed t h eymight
b e. The mo urn f ul c ad en ce of t he music, whi ch  seemed to  s oot he the s oul
of t he elder man, wound its e lf amon g t he yo unge r’s thoug hts , anddra g ged
th em tow ardsde spa i r ; the i nd iff er ence of th e men  in f ro nt o f the
p ublic-house flashe d  ac ross his memo ryandd e pr ess e dh im.  H e  wi s h ed
Jessie would  stop play in g .
“Ah,” sai d  Br au nt, wit h a dee p sig h  when s he did st op. “That ’s  the g ran dest piece  of musi c ever ma d e. It ru ns in  my  headal l d ay. T he thr o b
o f the  machi ne ry atthe w or ks seems  to be tuned to it. It’ s in t he ro arof the st ree t s.Come, mylad,  I’ll go w ith  yo u, be cau s e you  wan t  m e t o ,
not  tha t  it willd oany g oo d. I’ll spe a k ifyou l ike 
? One_determined man_who doesn’t need to
bother_about his_backing--who_knows his_principals_will back him_through
thick and thin--will_beat any mob. Why_can a small_company_of soldiers
put down a riot? It’s because they’re commanded by one man. When he_says
‘jump,’_they jump;_when_he_says ‘shoot,’ they shoot. That’s_the whole
secret of it.”

Braunt resumed_his pipe,_and smoked vigorously to get back to his_usual
state_of taciturnity. Marsten_had never heard him talk so long before,
and he_stood pondering what had been said._Braunt was the_first_to
speak.

“Play_the _Dead March_, Jessie,”_he said, gruffly.

The girl hesitated a_moment, evidently loath to begin when_Marsten was
in the room, a slight hectic_colour mounting to her cheek: but_obedience
was strong in her; her_father was_not a man to be_disobeyed. She drew_up
her chair,_and began Chopin’s__Funeral March_, playing it very badly,
but_still recognizably.

Peace seemed_to come over Braunt as he_listened_to the dirge._He_sat
back_in the_chair, his eyes_on_the ceiling,_smoking_steadily. Marsten
sat down, meditating on what_Braunt_had said. He was not old enough_to
have his opinions fixed,_and_to be impervious to_argument, so Braunt’s
remarks troubled him._He hoped they were not true,_but feared_they might
be._The mournful cadence of the music, which seemed to soothe the_soul
of the elder man, wound itself_among the younger’s thoughts,_and dragged
them_towards_despair; the indifference_of_the men_in front of the
public-house flashed across his_memory and_depressed him. He wished
Jessie would stop_playing.

“Ah,” said Braunt, with_a_deep sigh when she did stop._“That’s the
grandest piece of music ever_made. It runs in my_head_all_day. The throb
of the machinery_at the works seems to be_tuned to it._It’s in the roar
of the streets. Come,_my_lad, I’ll go with you, because_you_want me to,
not that it will_do_any_good. I’ll speak if you_like