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King-Plunger 313
values ;
he dwells in the past and he wildly bewails
the dead weight of the past.
One after another men rush in to report the
burning of libraries, the breaking of statues, and
the destruction of monuments. No one among the
wealthy mob regrets the slaughter of human life.
Panic-stricken the mighty fall from their
thrones. The Starving, infuriated and vengeful,
are marching on the masters! They must not see
the craven fear of the huddled figures in the man
sions, the lights are turned off. But darkness
is even more terrible to the frightened palace mob.
In the madness of terror they begin to accuse and
denounce each other. They feel as helpless as
children before the approaching avalanche of
vengeance.
At this critical moment a man appears. He is
small, dirty, and unwashed; he smells of cheap
whisky and bad tobacco; he blows his nose with a
red handkerchief and his manners are disgusting.
He is the engineer. He looks calmly about him,
presses a button, and the place is flooded with
light. He brings the comforting news that the
revolt is crushed.
Engineer. On Sunny Hill we planted a line of im
mense machine guns of enormous power. ... A few
projectiles of a specially destructive power ... A public
square filled with people . . . Enough one or two such
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