save his own soul, to win his own
freedom, and perhaps to teach others to do the same, not so much through
social propaganda as by digging down to a deeper personal culture.
Though I sometimes think that just now the prison would help me, yet I
also long at times to talk to the crowd. I wish to tell the smug ones
that we waste our lives in holding on to things that in our hearts we
hold contemptible. I wish to tell the mob just why there are thirty
thousand steady men out of work in this city: to do this I may take to
the curbstone."

After his speech Terry returned to the home of Katie and Marie, as has
been described by Marie, but on no basis of permanence. He thus speaks
of it:

"You may think that I, too, have 'cashed in' my ideals; for I am back at
the Salon--for how long nobody knows--by special proxy request of
Katie. I will spare myself and you any moralising on my relapse."

Katie, explaining Terry's return, said: "When he went away, Marie was
sad all the time. She could not eat nor sleep and was looking for her
lover every day. After weeks had passed I said to her: 'When you see
Terry at the Social Science League, bring him home.' 'Do you mean it,
Katie?' asked Marie, her eyes sparkling. She did so, and Terry went
quietly into his room, and the next morning I made coffee as usual and
Terry came out, and it was all right; it might have been all right for
good, if this damned Nietzsche business had not come up." But that is
anticipating.

It was after Terry's return that the famous miner Haywood, just after
his acquittal from the charge of murder in connection with the Idaho
labour troubles, visited Chicago, and spent most of his time at the
Salon with Terry and Marie and several of their friends. The Salon was
temporarily revived, like the flash in the pan, under Haywood's
stimulating influence. Terry wrote of him:

"Haywood has the stern pioneer pride of the West. There is a mighty
simplicity about him. He is Walt Whitman's works bound in flesh and
blood. He is a man of few words, and of instinctive psychic force, and
is the big blond beast of Nietzsche. He knows just what he is doing and
why, and has a great influence on the crowd: the mob went wild at his
mere presence, and after his brief speech he came absolutely to be one
of them. The swaying mass becomes, at his touch, in close contact with
their instinctive leader. He is too much in touch with the people to
agree with narrow trades-union policies.