“Look here,” the man barked on, “if you open those gates at the twenty-five-foot gauge reading, that road won’t flood. We represent the State Businessmen’s Association, and we pay a lot of taxes. We’re about ready to turn on the heat!”

In the long years since he had ceased being a junior officer the General had got out of the habit of keeping himself tightly reined in, but he still held on.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “what happens to the delta farmers when those gates are opened?”

“They get flooded of course, but they take that chance. And there’s not half—not a quarter—the loss of crops that there is loss of business here.”

The General reflected a moment, wanting to argue. Damage to land and crops was real to him, but as a military man he could never quite figure out the meaning of loss of business. Someone didn’t spend money today because he didn’t like to go out in the wet, but he must do something with the money some time. But that was not the point.

He put his last thought into words. “Gentlemen, that’s not the point. There is the matter of an agreement. Possibly conditions have changed, and flooding the highway is more costly than flooding the farmers. That’s still not the point—I hold the gates until I consider that the safety of the city is endangered.”

The three men of the Committee looked at one another, and then got up. Last to go was the fat chairman. He turned around in the doorway.

“All right, General—” he barked. “And say, you don’t by any chance own stock in the Delta Asparagus Company?”

The General was on his feet. He did not bark, but he roared: “Get out of my office!”