e, as Eleanore
did. I considered that a mighty fine job--for a woman or a clergyman.
But to go at it and drain the swamp was a very different matter. You
couldn't do it by easy preaching of patent cure-alls, nor by stirring up
class hatred through rabid attacks upon big men. No, this was a job for
the big men themselves, men who would go at this human swamp as
Eleanore's father had gone at the harbor--quietly and slowly, with an
engineer's precision. He had been at it six solid years, but he still
remarked humbly, "We've only begun."

Then from thinking of big men I thought of the one I had seen that day,
and of my story about him. It was just in the stage I liked, where I
could feel it all coming together. Incidents, bits of character and neat
little turns of speech rose temptingly before my mind.

Presently, through the clamor around me, I heard "the Indian" crying.
All this chatter had waked him up. I saw Eleanore go in to him and soon
I heard the crying stop, and I knew she was telling him a story, a nice
sleepy one to quiet him down.

What an infernal racket these people were making about the world. I went
on thinking about my work.

CHAPTER III

"You two," said Sue, when at last her friends had gone away, "have built
up a wall of contentment around you a person couldn't break through with
an axe."

"Have a little," I suggested.

"Stay all night," said Eleanore.

"No, thanks," said Sue. "I promised Dad that I'd be home."

And then instead of going home she sprawled lazily on the sofa with her
head upon one elbow, and settled in for some more talk. But her talk was
different to-night. She usually talked about herself, but to-night she
talked of us instead, of our contemptible content. And presently through
her talk I felt that she had some surprise to spring. In a few moments
Eleanore felt it too, I could tell that by the vigilant way she kept
glancing up from her knitting.

"I think," I was remarking, "we're a pretty liberal-minded pair."

"That's it," said Sue. "You're liberals!" What utter disdain she threw
into the word. "And what's more you're citizens. In all these
movements," she went on, "you always find two classes--citizens and
criminals. You two are both born citizens."

"What's the difference?" I inquired.

"Citizens," said Sue impressively, "are ready to _vote_ for what they
believe in. Criminals are ready to get arrested and go to jail."

Eleanore looked up at her.

"Who gav