e. "All I want to do is
to love, not talk."

He ignored Mr. Morse, who said:-

"I am unconvinced. All socialists are Jesuits. That is the way to tell
them."

"We'll make a good Republican out of you yet," said Judge Blount.

"The man on horseback will arrive before that time," Martin retorted with
good humor, and returned to Ruth.

But Mr. Morse was not content. He did not like the laziness and the
disinclination for sober, legitimate work of this prospective son-in-law
of his, for whose ideas he had no respect and of whose nature he had no
understanding. So he turned the conversation to Herbert Spencer. Judge
Blount ably seconded him, and Martin, whose ears had pricked at the first
mention of the philosopher's name, listened to the judge enunciate a
grave and complacent diatribe against Spencer. From time to time Mr.
Morse glanced at Martin, as much as to say, "There, my boy, you see."

"Chattering daws," Martin muttered under his breath, and went on talking
with Ruth and Arthur.

But the long day and the "real dirt" of the night before were telling
upon him; and, besides, still in his burnt mind was what had made him
angry when he read it on the car.

"What is the matter?" Ruth asked suddenly alarmed by the effort he was
making to contain himself.

"There is no god but the Unknowable, and Herbert Spencer is its prophet,"
Judge Blount was saying at that moment.

Martin turned upon him.

"A cheap judgment," he remarked quietly. "I heard it first in the City
Hall Park, on the lips of a workingman who ought to have known better. I
have heard it often since, and each time the clap-trap of it nauseates
me. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. To hear that great and noble
man's name upon your lips is like finding a dew-drop in a cesspool. You
are disgusting."

It was like a thunderbolt. Judge Blount glared at him with apoplectic
countenance, and silence reigned. Mr. Morse was secretly pleased. He
could see that his daughter was shocked. It was what he wanted to do--to
bring out the innate ruffianism of this man he did not like.

Ruth's hand sought Martin's beseechingly under the table, but his blood
was up. He was inflamed by the intellectual pretence and fraud of those
who sat in the high places. A Superior Court Judge! It was only several
years before that he had looked up from the mire at such glorious
entities and deemed them gods.

Judge Blount recovered himself and attempted to go o