Memoirs of an editor : fifty years of American journalism / Edward P. Mitchell.

240

MEMOIRS OF AN EDITOR

the psychologic twist," he explained, "When I put that
twist on anybody he's helplessly subject to me. If I keep
on twisting he's a dead man. When I put the twist on
any combination or movement of men their plans cannot
succeed."
"How do you feel when you are putting on the twist?"
I inquired.
"Oh, it's purely involuntary on my part. I don't feel
it at all. It requires no effort of will."
"What will the Dictatorship be like?"
"It will be a pure autocracy of love. That expresses it
exactly-a pure autocracy of love. Everybody will think
as I think. It's going to be a matter of worship, you understand."
"Of worship? Worship of whom?"
" Why, of Me. The people are going to worship me when
I get to be Dictator. They are beginning to do so already."
"Shall you cherish any ill will against those who deride
you now?"
"Not the slightest. They are not to blame. They deride me only through ignorance."
"Shall you establish yourself at the White House?"
"I think not. I shall undoubtedly make my headquarters on this same bench and absolutely govern
45,000,000 people from Madison Square."
"How long shall you hold the Dictatorship?"
"It will be perpetual, or practically perpetual. I don't
expect to die for 200 years. My idea is that red blood like
this is good for at least 200 years."
Mr. Train exhibited his tightly clenched fist and then
opened it suddenly. Where each finger tip had pressed
against the palm was a round white spot, defined with

extraordinary clearness. In a second the blood rushed
tumultuously to the surface, and the round spots glowed
like ripe strawberries. I never saw such blood.
"I don't care anything about the Dictatorship," he