IV

Jane was mistaken in her guess at the cause of Victor Dorn's agitation

and abrupt flight. If he had any sense whatever of the secret she had

betrayed to him and to herself at the same instant it was wholly

unconscious. He had become panic-stricken and had fled because he,

faced with her exuberance and tempting wealth of physical charm, had

become suddenly conscious of her and of himself in a way as new to him

as if he had been fresh from a monkery where no woman had ever been

seen. Thus far the world had been peopled for him with human beings

without any reference to sex. The phenomena of sex had not interested

him because his mind had been entirely taken up with the other aspects

of life; and he had not yet reached the stage of development where a

thinker grasps the truth that all questions are at bottom questions of

the sex relation, and that, therefore, no question can be settled right

until the sex relations are settled right.

Jane Hastings was the first girl he had met in his whole life who was

in a position to awaken that side of his nature. And when his brain

suddenly filled with a torrent of mad longings and of sensuous

appreciations of her laces and silk, of her perfume and smoothness and

roundness, of the ecstasy that would come from contact with those warm,

rosy lips--when Victor Dorn found himself all in a flash eager

impetuosity to seize this woman whom he did not approve of, whom he did

not even like, he felt bowed with shame. He would not have believed

himself capable of such a thing. He fled.

He fled, but she pursued. And when he sat down in the garden behind

his mother's cottage, to work at a table where bees and butterflies had

been his only disturbers, there was this SHE before him--her soft,

shining gaze fascinating his gaze, her useless but lovely white hands

extended tantalizingly toward him.

As he continued to look at her, his disapproval and dislike melted. "I

was brutally harsh to her," he thought repentantly.

"She was honestly trying to do the decent thing. How was she to know?

And wasn't I as much wrong as right in advising her not to help the

men?"

Beyond question, it was theoretically best for the two opposing forces,

capital and labor, to fight their battle to its inevitable end without

interference, without truce, with quarter neither given nor taken on

either side. But practically--wasn't there something to be said for

such humane proposals of that of Jane Hastings? They would put off the

day of right conditions rightly and therefore permanently

founded--conditions in which master and slave or serf or wage-taker

would be no more; but, on the other hand, slaves with shorter hours of

toil and better surroundings could be enlightened more easily.

Perhaps. He was by no means sure; he could not but fear that anything

that tended to make the slave comfortable in his degradation must of

necessity weaken his aversion to degradation. Just as the worst kings

were the best kings because they hastened the fall of monarchy, so the

worst capitalists, the most rapacious, the most rigid enforcers of the

economic laws of a capitalistic society were the best capitalists, were

helping to hasten the day when men would work for what they earned and

would earn what they worked for--when every man's pay envelope would

contain his wages, his full wages, and nothing but his wages.

Still, where judgment was uncertain, he certainly had been unjust to

that well meaning girl. And was she really so worthless as he had on

first sight adjudged her? There might be exceptions to the rule that a

parasite born and bred can have no other instructor or idea but those

of parasitism. She was honest and earnest, was eager to learn the

truth. She might be put to some use. At any rate he had been unworthy

of his own ideals when he, assuming without question that she was the

usual capitalistic snob with the itch for gratifying vanity by

patronizing the "poor dear lower classes," had been almost insultingly

curt and mocking.

"What was the matter with me?" he asked himself. "I never acted in

that way before." And then he saw that his brusqueness had been the

cover for fear of of her--fear of the allure of her luxury and her

beauty. In love with her? He knew that he was not. No, his feeling

toward her was merely the crudest form of the tribute of man to

woman--though apparently woman as a rule preferred this form to any

other.

"I owe her an apology," he said to himself. And so it came to pass

that at three the following afternoon he was once more facing her in

that creeper-walled seclusion whose soft lights were almost equal to

light of gloaming or moon or stars in romantic charm.

Said he--always direct and simple, whether dealing with man or woman,

with devious person or straight:

"I've come to beg your pardon for what I said yesterday."

"You certainly were wild and strange," laughed she.

"I was supercilious," said he. "And worse than that there is not.

However, as I have apologized, and you have accepted my apology, we

need waste no more time about that. You wished to persuade your father

to----"

"Just a moment!" interrupted she. "I've a question to ask. WHY did you

treat me--why have you been treating me so--so harshly?"

"Because I was afraid of you," replied he. "I did not realize it, but

that was the reason."

"Afraid of ME," said she. "That's very flattering."

"No," said he, coloring. "In some mysterious way I had been betrayed

into thinking of you as no man ought to think of a woman unless he is

in love with her and she with him. I am ashamed of myself. But I

shall conquer that feeling--or keep away from you.... Do you understand

what the street car situation is?"

But she was not to be deflected from the main question, now that it had

been brought to the front so unexpectedly and in exactly the way most

favorable to her purposes. "You've made me uneasy," said she. "I

don't in the least understand what you mean. I have wanted, and I

still want, to be friends with you--good friends--just as you and Selma

Gordon are--though of course I couldn't hope to be as close a friend as

she is. I'm too ignorant--too useless."

He shook his head--with him, a gesture that conveyed the full strength

of negation. "We are on opposite sides of a line across which

friendship is impossible. I could not be your friend without being

false to myself. You couldn't be mine unless you were by some accident

flung into the working class and forced to adopt it as your own. Even

then you'd probably remain what you are. Only a small part of the

working class as yet is at heart of the working class. Most of us

secretly--almost openly--despise the life of work, and dream and hope a

time of fortune that will put us up among the masters and the idlers."

His expressive eyes became eloquent. "The false and shallow ideas that

have been educated into us for ages can't be uprooted in a few brief

years."

She felt the admiration she did not try to conceal. She saw the proud

and splendid conception of the dignity of labor--of labor as a

blessing, not a curse, as a badge of aristocracy and not of slavery and

shame. "You really believe that, don't you?" she said. "I know it's

true. I say I believe it--who doesn't SAY so? But I don't FEEL it."

"That's honest," said he heartily. "That's some thing to build on."

"And I'm going to build!" cried she. "You'll help me--won't you? I

know, it's a great deal to ask. Why should you take the time and the

trouble to bother with one single unimportant person."

"That's the way I spend my life--in adding one man or one woman to our

party--one at a time. It's slow building, but it's the only kind that

endures. There are twelve hundred of us now--twelve hundred voters, I

mean. Ten years ago there were only three hundred. We'd expand much

more rapidly if it weren't for the constant shifts of population. Our

men are forced to go elsewhere as the pressure of capitalism gets too

strong. And in place of them come raw emigrants, ignorant, full of

dreams of becoming capitalists and exploiters of their fellow men and

idlers. Ambition they call it. Ambition!" He laughed. "What a

vulgar, what a cruel notion of rising in the world! To cease to be

useful, to become a burden to others! ... Did you ever think how many

poor creatures have to toil longer hours, how many children have to go

to the factory instead of to school, in order that there may be two

hundred and seven automobiles privately kept in this town and

seventy-four chauffeurs doing nothing but wait upon their masters?

Money doesn't grow on bushes, you know. Every cent of it has to be

earned by somebody--and earned by MANUAL labor."

"I must think about that," she said--for the first time as much

interested in what he was saying as in the man himself. No small

triumph for Victor over the mind of a woman dominated, as was Jane

Hastings, by the sex instinct that determines the thoughts and actions

of practically the entire female sex.

"Yes--think about it," he urged. "You will never see it--or

anything--until you see it for yourself."

"That's the way your party is built--isn't it?" inquired she. "Of those

who see it for themselves."

"Only those," replied he. "We want no others."

"Not even their votes?" said she shrewdly.

"Not even their votes," he answered. "We've no desire to get the

offices until we get them to keep. And when we shall have conquered

the city, we'll move on to the conquest of the county--then of the

district--then of the state. Our kind of movement is building in every

city now, and in most of the towns and many of the villages. The old

parties are falling to pieces because they stand for the old politics

of the two factions of the upper class quarreling over which of them

should superintend the exploiting of the people. Very few of us

realize what is going on before our very eyes--that we're seeing the

death agonies of one form of civilization and the birth-throes of a

newer form."

"And what will it be?" asked the girl.

She had been waiting for some sign of the "crank," the impractical

dreamer. She was confident that this question would reveal the man she

had been warned against--that in answering it he would betray his true

self. But he disappointed and surprised her.

"How can I tell what it will be?" said he. "I'm not a prophet. All I

can say is I am sure it will be human, full of imperfections, full of

opportunities for improvements--and that I hope it will be better than

what we have now. Probably not much better, but a little--and that

little, however small it may be, will be a gain. Doesn't history show

a slow but steady advance of the idea that the world is for the people

who live in it, a slow retreat of the idea that the world and the

people and all its and their resources are for a favored few of some

kind of an upper class? Yes--I think it is reasonable to hope that out

of the throes will come a freer and a happier and a more intelligent

race."

Suddenly she burst out, apparently irrelevantly: "But I can't--I

really can't agree with you that everyone ought to do physical labor.

That would drag the world down--yes, I'm sure it would."

"I guess you haven't thought about that," said he. "Painters do

physical labor--and sculptors--and writers--and all the scientific

men--and the inventors--and--" He laughed at her--"Who doesn't do

physical labor that does anything really useful? Why, you yourself--at

tennis and riding and such things--do heavy physical labor. I've only

to look at your body to see that. But it's of a foolish kind--foolish

and narrowly selfish."

"I see I'd better not try to argue with you," said she.

"No--don't argue--with me or with anybody," rejoined he. "Sit down

quietly and think about life--about your life. Think how it is best to

live so that you may get the most out of life--the most substantial

happiness. Don't go on doing the silly customary things simply because

a silly customary world says they are amusing and worth while.

Think--and do--for yourself, Jane Hastings."

She nodded slowly and thoughtfully. "I'll try to," she said. She

looked at him with the expression of the mind aroused. It was an

expression that often rewarded him after a long straight talk with a

fellow being. She went on: "I probably shan't do what you'd approve.

You see, I've got to be myself--got to live to a certain extent the

kind of a life fate has made for me."

"You couldn't successfully live any other," said he.

"But, while it won't be at all what you'd regard as a model life--or

even perhaps useful--it'll be very different--very much better--than it

would have been, if I hadn't met you--Victor Dorn."

"Oh, I've done nothing," said he. "All I try to do is to encourage my

fellow beings to be themselves. So--live your own life--the life you

can live best--just as you wear the clothes that fit and become you....

And now--about the street car question. What do you want of me?"

"Tell me what to say to father."

He shook his head. "Can't do it," said he. "There's a good place for

you to make a beginning. Put on an old dress and go down town and get

acquainted with the family life of the street-car men. Talk to their

wives and their children. Look into the whole business yourself."

"But I'm not--not competent to judge," objected she.

"Well, make yourself competent," advised he.

"I might get Miss Gordon to go with me," suggested she.

"You'll learn more thoroughly if you go alone," declared he.

She hesitated--ventured with a winning smile: "You won't go with

me--just to get me started right?"

"No," said he. "You've got to learn for yourself--or not at all. If I

go with you, you'll get my point of view, and it will take you so much

the longer to get your own."

"Perhaps you'd prefer I didn't go."

"It's not a matter of much importance, one way or the other--except

perhaps to yourself," replied he.

"Any one individual can do the human race little good by learning the

truth about life. The only benefit is to himself. Don't forget that in

your sweet enthusiasm for doing something noble and generous and

helpful. Don't become a Davy Hull. You know, Davy is on earth for the

benefit of the human race. Ever since he was born he has been taken

care of--supplied with food, clothing, shelter, everything. Yet he

imagines that he is somehow a God-appointed guardian of the people who

have gathered and cooked his food, made his clothing, served him in

every way. It's very funny, that attitude of your class toward mine."

"They look up to us," said Jane. "You can't blame us for allowing

it--for becoming pleased with ourselves."

"That's the worst of it--we do look up to you," admitted he.

"But--we're learning better."

"YOU'VE already learned better--you personally, I mean. I think that

when you compare me, for instance, with a girl like Selma Gordon, you

look down on me."

"Don't you, yourself, feel that any woman who is self-supporting and

free is your superior?"

"In some moods, I do," replied Jane. "In other moods, I feel as I was

brought up to feel."

They talked on and on, she detaining him without seeming to do so. She

felt proud of her adroitness. But the truth was that his stopping on

for nearly two hours was almost altogether a tribute to her physical

charm--though Victor was unconscious of it. When the afternoon was

drawing on toward the time for her father to come, she reluctantly let

him go. She said:

"But you'll come again?"

"I can't do that," replied he regretfully. "I could not come to your

father's house and continue free. I must be able to say what I

honestly think, without any restraint."

"I understand," said she. "And I want you to say and to write what you

believe to be true and right. But--we'll see each other again. I'm

sure we are going to be friends."

His expression as he bade her good-by told her that she had won his

respect and his liking. She had a suspicion that she did not deserve

either; but she was full of good resolutions, and assured herself she

soon would be what she had pretended--that her pretenses were not

exactly false, only somewhat premature.

At dinner that evening she said to her father:

"I think I ought to do something beside enjoy myself. I've decided to

go down among the poor people and see whether I can't help them in some

way."

"You'd better keep away from that part of town," advised her father.

"They live awful dirty, and you might catch some disease. If you want

to do anything for the poor, send a check to our minister or to the

charity society. There's two kinds of poor--those that are working

hard and saving their money and getting up out of the dirt, and those

that haven't got no spunk or get-up. The first kind don't need help,

and the second don't deserve it."

"But there are the children, popsy," urged Jane. "The children of the

no-account poor ought to have a chance."

"I don't reckon there ever was a more shiftless, do-easy pair than my

father and mother," rejoined Martin Hastings. "They were what set me

to jumping."

She saw that his view was hopelessly narrow--that, while he regarded

himself justly as an extraordinary man, he also, for purposes of

prejudice and selfishness, regarded his own achievements in overcoming

what would have been hopeless handicaps to any but a giant in character

and in physical endurance as an instance of what any one could do if he

would but work. She never argued with him when she wished to carry her

point. She now said:

"It seems to me that, in our own interest, we ought to do what we can

to make the poor live better. As you say, it's positively dangerous to

go about in the tenement part of town--and those people are always

coming among us. For instance, our servants have relatives living in

Cooper Street, where there's a pest of consumption."

Old Hastings nodded. "That's part of Davy Hull's reform programme,"

said he. "And I'm in favor of it. The city government ought to make

them people clean up."

"Victor Dorn wants that done, too--doesn't he?" said Jane.

"No," replied the old man sourly. "He says it's no use to clean up the

slums unless you raise wages--and that then the slum people'd clean

themselves up. The idea of giving those worthless trash more money to

spend for beer and whisky and finery for their fool daughters. Why,

they don't earn what we give 'em now."

Jane couldn't resist the temptation to say, "I guess the laziest of

them earn more than Davy Hull or I."

"Because some gets more than they earn ain't a reason why others

should." He grinned. "Maybe you and Davy ought to have less, but

Victor Dorn and his riff-raff oughtn't to be pampered.... Do you want

me to cut your allowance down?"

She was ready for him. "If you can get as satisfactory a housekeeper

for less, you're a fool to overpay the one you have."

The old man was delighted. "I've been cheating you," said he. "I'll

double your pay."

"You're doing it just in time to stop a strike," laughed the girl.

After a not unknown fashion she was most obedient to her father when

his commands happened to coincide with her own inclinations.

Her ardor for an excursion into the slums and the tenements died almost

with Victor Dorn's departure. Her father's reasons for forbidding her

to go did not impress her as convincing, but she felt that she owed it

to him to respect his wishes. Anyhow, what could she find out that she

did not know already? Yes, Dorn and her father were right in the

conclusion each reached by a different road. She would do well not to

meddle where she could not possibly accomplish any good. She could

question the servants and could get from them all the facts she needed

for urging her father at least to cut down the hours of labor.

The more she thought about Victor Dorn the more uneasy she became. She

had made more progress with him than she had hoped to make in so short

a time. But she had made it at an unexpected cost. If she had

softened him, he had established a disquieting influence over her. She

was not sure, but she was afraid, that he was stronger than she--that,

if she persisted in her whim, she would soon be liking him entirely too

well for her own comfort. Except as a pastime, Victor Dorn did not fit

into her scheme of life. If she continued to see him, to yield to the

delight of his magnetic voice, of his fresh and original mind, of his

energetic and dominating personality, might he not become

aroused--begin to assert power over her, compel her to--to--she could

not imagine what; only, it was foolish to deny that he was a dangerous

man. "If I've got good sense," decided she, "I'll let him alone. I've

nothing to gain and everything to lose."

Her motor--the one her father had ordered as a birthday present--came

the next day; and on the following day two girl friends from

Cincinnati arrived for a long visit. So, Jane Hastings had the help

she felt she perhaps needed in resisting the temptings of her whim.

To aid her in giving her friends a good time she impressed Davy Hull,

in spite of his protests that his political work made social fooling

about impossible. The truth was that the reform movement, of which he

was one of the figureheads, was being organized by far more skillful

and expert hands than his--and for purposes of which he had no notion.

So, he really had all the time in the world to look after Ellen

Clearwater and Josie Arthur, and to pose as a serious man bent upon

doing his duty as an upper class person of leisure. All that the

reform machine wished of him was to talk and to pose--and to ride on

the show seat of the pretty, new political wagon.

The new movement had not yet been "sprung" upon the public. It was

still an open secret among the young men of the "better element" in the

Lincoln, the Jefferson and the University clubs.

Money was being subscribed liberally by persons of good family who

hoped for political preferment and could not get it from the old

parties, and by corporations tired of being "blackmailed" by Kelly and

House, and desirous of getting into office men who would give them what

they wanted because it was for the public good that they should not be

hampered in any way. With plenty of money an excellent machine could

be built and set to running. Also, there was talk of a fusion with the

Democratic machine, House to order the wholesale indorsement of the

reform ticket in exchange for a few minor places.

When the excitement among the young gentlemen over the approaching

moral regeneration of Remsen City politics was at the boiling point

Victor Dorn sent for David Hull--asked him to come to the Baker Avenue

cafe', which was the social headquarters of Dorn's Workingmen's League.

As Hull was rather counting on Dorn's support, or at least neutrality,

in the approaching contest, he accepted promptly. As he entered the

cafe' he saw Dorn seated at a table in a far corner listening calmly to

a man who was obviously angrily in earnest. At second glance he

recognized Tony Rivers, one of Dick Kelly's shrewdest lieutenants and a

labor leader of great influence in the unions of factory workers.

Among those in "the know" it was understood that Rivers could come

nearer to delivering the labor vote than any man in Remsen City. He

knew whom to corrupt with bribes and whom to entrap by subtle appeals

to ignorant prejudice. As a large part of his herd was intensely

Catholic, Rivers was a devout Catholic. To quote his own phrase, used

in a company on whose discretion he could count, "Many's the pair of

pants I've worn out doing the stations of the Cross." In fact, Rivers

had been brought up a Presbyterian, and under the name of Blake--his

correct name--had "done a stretch" in Joliet for picking pockets.

Dorn caught sight of Davy Hull, hanging uncertainly in the offing. He

rose at once, said a few words in a quiet, emphatic way to

Rivers--words of conclusion and dismissal--and advanced to meet Hull.

"I don't want to interrupt. I can wait," said Hull, who saw Rivers'

angry scowl at him. He did not wish to offend the great labor leader.

"That fellow pushed himself on me," said Dorn. "I've nothing to say to

him."

"Tony Rivers--wasn't it?" said Davy as they seated themselves at

another table.

"I'm going to expose him in next week's New Day," replied Victor.

"When I sent him a copy of the article for his corrections, if he could

make any, he came threatening."

"I've heard he's a dangerous man," said Davy.

"He'll not be so dangerous after Saturday," replied Victor. "One by one

I'm putting the labor agents of your friends out of business. The best

ones--the chaps like Rivers--are hard to catch. And if I should attack

one of them before I had him dead to rights, I'd only strengthen him."

"You think you can destroy Rivers' influence?" said Davy incredulously.

"If I were not sure of it I'd not publish a line," said Victor.

"But to get to the subject I wish to talk to you about. You are to be

the reform candidate for Mayor in the fall?"

Davy looked important and self-conscious. "There has been some talk

of----" he began.

"I've sent for you to ask you to withdraw from the movement, Hull,"

interrupted Victor.

Hull smiled. "And I've come to ask you to support it," said Hull.

"We'll win, anyhow. But I'd like to see all the forces against

corruption united in this campaign. I am even urging my people to put

one or two of your men on the ticket."

"None of us would accept," said Victor. "That isn't our kind of

politics. We'll take nothing until we get everything.... What do you

know about this movement you're lending your name to?"

"I organized it," said Hull proudly.

"Pardon me--Dick Kelly organized it," replied Victor. "They're simply

using you, Davy, to play their rotten game. Kelly knew he was certain

to be beaten this fall. He doesn't care especially for that, because

House and his gang are just as much Kelly as Kelly himself. But he's

alarmed about the judgeship."

Davy Hull reddened, though he tried hard to look indifferent.

"He's given up hope of pulling through the scoundrel who's on the bench

now. He knows that our man would be elected, though his tool had the

support of the Republicans, the Democrats and the new reform crowd."

Dorn had been watching Hull's embarrassed face keenly. He now said:

"You understand, I see, why Judge Freilig changed his mind and decided

that he must stop devoting himself to the public and think of the

welfare of his family and resume the practice of the law?"

"Judge Freilig is an honorable gentleman," said Davy with much dignity.

"I'm sorry, Dorn, that you listen to the lies of demagogues."

"If Freilig had persisted in running," said Victor, "I should have

published the list of stocks and bonds of corporations benefiting by

his decisions that his brother and his father have come into possession

of during his two terms on the bench. Many of our judges are simply

mentally crooked. But Freilig is a bribe taker. He probably believes

his decisions are just. All you fellows believe that upper-class rule

is really best for the people----"

"And so it is," said Davy. "And you, an educated man, know it."

"I'll not argue that now," said Victor. "As I was saying, while

Freilig decides for what he honestly thinks is right, he also feels he

is entitled to a share of the substantial benefits. Most of the judges,

after serving the upper class faithfully for years, retire to an old

age of comparative poverty. Freilig thinks that is foolish."

"I suppose you agree with him," said Hull sarcastically.

"I sympathize with him," said Victor. "He retires with reputation

unstained and with plenty of money. If I should publish the truth

about him, would he lose a single one of his friends? You know he

wouldn't. That isn't the way the world is run at present."

"No doubt it would be run much better if your crowd were in charge,"

sneered Hull.

"On the contrary, much worse," replied Victor unruffled. "But we're

educating ourselves so that, when our time comes, we'll not do so

badly."

"You'll have plenty of time for education," said Davy.

"Plenty," said Victor. "But why are you angry? Because you realize

now that your reform candidate for judge is of Dick Kelly's selecting?"

"Kelly didn't propose Hugo Galland," cried Davy hotly. "I proposed him

myself."

"Was his the first name you proposed?"

Something in Dorn's tone made Davy feel that it would be unwise to

yield to the impulse to tell a lie--for the highly moral purpose of

silencing this agitator and demagogue.

"You will remember," pursued Victor, "that Galland was the sixth or

seventh name you proposed--and that Joe House rejected the others. He

did it, after consulting with Kelly. You recall--don't you?--that

every time you brought him a name he took time to consider?"

"How do you know so much about all this?" cried Davy, his tone

suggesting that Victor was wholly mistaken, but his manner betraying

that he knew Victor was right.

"Oh, politicians are human," replied Dorn. "And the human race is

loose-mouthed. I saw years ago that if I was to build my party I must

have full and accurate information as to all that was going on. I made

my plans accordingly."

"Galland is an honest man--rich--above suspicion--above corruption--an

ideal candidate," said Davy.

"He is a corporation owner, a corporation lawyer--and a fool," said

Victor. "As I've told you, all Dick Kelly's interest in this fall's

local election is that judgeship."

"Galland is my man. I want to see him elected. If Kelly's for

Galland, so much the better. Then we're sure of electing him--of

getting the right sort of a man on the bench."

"I'm not here to argue with you about politics, Davy," said Victor. "I

brought you here because I like you--believe in your honesty--and don't

want to see you humiliated. I'm giving you a chance to save yourself ."

"From what?" inquired Hull, not so valiant as he pretended to be.

"From the ridicule and disgrace that will cover this reform movement,

if you persist in it."

Hull burst out laughing. "Of all the damned impudence!" he exclaimed.

"Dorn, I think you've gone crazy ."

"You can't irritate me, Hull. I've been giving you the benefit of the

doubt. I think you are falling into the commonest kind of error--doing

evil and winking at evil in order that a good end may be gained. Now,

listen. What are the things you reformers are counting on to get you

votes this fall."

Davy maintained a haughty silence.

"The traction scandals, the gas scandals and the paving scandals--isn't

that it?"

"Of course," said Davy.

"Then--why have the gas crowd, the traction crowd and the paving crowd

each contributed twenty-five thousand dollars to your campaign fund?"

Hull stared at Victor Dorn in amazement. "Who told you that lie?" he

blustered.

Dorn looked at him sadly. "Then you knew? I hoped you didn't, Hull.

But--now that you're facing the situation squarely, don't you see that

you're being made a fool of? Would those people put up for your

election if they weren't SURE you and your crowd were THEIR crowd?"

"They'll find out!" cried Hull.

"You'll find out, you mean," replied Victor. "I see your whole

programme, Davy. They'll put you in, and they'll say, 'Let us alone

and we'll make you governor of the State. Annoy us, and you'll have no

political future.' And you'll say to yourself, 'The wise thing for me

to do is to wait until I'm governor before I begin to serve the people.

THEN I can really do something.' And so, you'll be THEIR mayor--and

afterward THEIR governor--because they'll hold out another inducement.

Anyhow, by that time you'll be so completely theirs that you'll have no

hope of a career except through them."

After reading how some famous oration wrought upon its audience we turn

to it and wonder that such tempests of emotion could have been produced

by such simple, perhaps almost commonplace words. The key to the

mystery is usually a magic quality in the tone of the orator, evoking

before its hypnotized hearers a series of vivid pictures, just as the

notes of a violin, with no aid from words or even from musical form

seem to materialize into visions.

This uncommon yet by no means rare power was in Victor Dorn's voice,

and explained his extraordinary influence over people of all kinds and

classes; it wove a spell that enmeshed even those who disliked him for

his detestable views. Davy Hull, listening to Victor's simple recital

of his prospective career, was so wrought upon that he sat staring

before him in a kind of terror.

"Davy," said Victor gently, "you're at the parting of the ways. The

time for honest halfway reformers--for political amateurs has passed.

'Under which king, Bezonian? Speak or die!'--that's the situation

today."

And Hull knew that it was so. "What do you propose, Dorn?" he said.

"I want to do what's right--what's best for the people."

"Don't worry about the people, Hull," said Victor.

"Upper classes come and pass, but the people remain--bigger and

stronger and more aggressive with every century. And they dictate

language and art, and politics and religion--what we shall all eat and

wear and think and do. Only what they approve, only that yoke even

which they themselves accept, has any chance of enduring. Don't worry

about the people, Davy. Worry about yourself."

"I admit," said Hull, "that I don't like a lot of things about the--the

forces I find I've got to use in order to carry through my plans. I

admit that even the sincere young fellows I've grouped together to head

this movement are narrow--supercilious--self-satisfied--that they

irritate me and are not trustworthy. But I feel that, if I once get

the office, I'll be strong enough to put my plans through." Nervously,

"I'm giving you my full confidence--as I've given it to no one else."

"You've told me nothing I didn't know already," said Victor.

"I've got to choose between this reform party and your party,"

continued Hull. "That is, I've got no choice. For, candidly, I've no

confidence in the working class. It's too ignorant to do the ruling.

It's too credulous to build on--for its credulity makes it fickle. And

I believe in the better class, too. It may be sordid and greedy and

tyrannical, but by appealing to its good instincts--and to its fear of

the money kings and the monopolists, something good can be got through

it."

"If you want to get office," said Dorn, "you're right. But if you want

to BE somebody, if you want to develop yourself, to have the joy of

being utterly unafraid in speech and in action--why, come with us."