You’d be hung—if you weren’t lynched first!”
“Don’t you think we know that?
Don’t you think we’re willing to take that chance?”
He tore his thinning hair.
Marrs broke in.
“Let me talk to him.”
He came over and faced us squarely.
“Is this on the level? You going to make a picture like that and stick your neck out?
You’re going to turn that… that thing over to the people of the world?”
I nodded. “Just that.”
“And toss over everything you’ve got?”
He was dead serious, and so was I.
He turned to the others.
“He means it!”
Bernstein said, “Can’t be done!”
Words flew.
I tried to convince them that we had followed the only possible path.
“What kind of a world do you want to live in?
Or don’t you want to live?”
Johnson grunted. “How long do you think we’d live if we ever made a picture like that?
You’re crazy!
I’m not.
I’m not going to put my head in a noose.”
“Why do you think we’ve been so insistent about credit and responsibility for direction and production?
You’ll be doing only what we hired you for.
Not that we want to twist your arm, but you’ve made a fortune, all of you, working for us.
Now, when the going gets heavy, you want to back out!”
Marrs gave in.
“Maybe you’re right, maybe you’re wrong.
Maybe you’re crazy, maybe I am.
I always used to say I’d try anything once.
Bernie, you?”
Bernstein was quietly cynical.
“You saw what happened in the last war.
This might help.
I don’t know if it will.
I don’t know—but I’d hate to think I didn’t try.
Count me in!”
Kessler?
He swiveled his head.
“Kid stuff!
Who wants to live forever?
Who wants to let a chance go by?”
Johnson threw up his hands.
“Let’s hope we get a cell together.
Let’s all go crazy.”
And that was that.
We went to work in a blazing drive of mutual hope and understanding.
In four months the lipreaders were through.
There’s no point in detailing here their reactions to the dynamite they daily dictated to Sorenson.