outrage akin to what a prince
would suffer if condemned to live with goat-herds.

"You hate and fear the socialists," he remarked to Mr. Morse, one evening
at dinner; "but why? You know neither them nor their doctrines."

The conversation had been swung in that direction by Mrs. Morse, who had
been invidiously singing the praises of Mr. Hapgood. The cashier was
Martin's black beast, and his temper was a trifle short where the talker
of platitudes was concerned.

"Yes," he had said, "Charley Hapgood is what they call a rising young
man--somebody told me as much. And it is true. He'll make the
Governor's Chair before he dies, and, who knows? maybe the United States
Senate."

"What makes you think so?" Mrs. Morse had inquired.

"I've heard him make a campaign speech. It was so cleverly stupid and
unoriginal, and also so convincing, that the leaders cannot help but
regard him as safe and sure, while his platitudes are so much like the
platitudes of the average voter that--oh, well, you know you flatter any
man by dressing up his own thoughts for him and presenting them to him."

"I actually think you are jealous of Mr. Hapgood," Ruth had chimed in.

"Heaven forbid!"

The look of horror on Martin's face stirred Mrs. Morse to belligerence.

"You surely don't mean to say that Mr. Hapgood is stupid?" she demanded
icily.

"No more than the average Republican," was the retort, "or average
Democrat, either. They are all stupid when they are not crafty, and very
few of them are crafty. The only wise Republicans are the millionnaires
and their conscious henchmen. They know which side their bread is
buttered on, and they know why."

"I am a Republican," Mr. Morse put in lightly. "Pray, how do you
classify me?"

"Oh, you are an unconscious henchman."

"Henchman?"

"Why, yes. You do corporation work. You have no working-class nor
criminal practice. You don't depend upon wife-beaters and pickpockets
for your income. You get your livelihood from the masters of society,
and whoever feeds a man is that man's master. Yes, you are a henchman.
You are interested in advancing the interests of the aggregations of
capital you serve."

Mr. Morse's face was a trifle red.

"I confess, sir," he said, "that you talk like a scoundrelly socialist."

Then it was that Martin made his remark:

"You hate and fear the socialists; but why? You know neither them nor
their doctrines."

"Your doctrine certainly sounds lik