're a thousand missionaries--apostles--yes, apostle is the name
for them. They live and breathe and think and talk only the ideas
Victor Dorn believes and fights for. And whenever he wants anything
done--anything for the cause--why, there are a thousand men ready to do
it."

"Why?" said Jane.

"Victor Dorn," said Hull. "Do you wonder that he interests me? For
instance, to-night: you see how it's raining. Well, Victor Dorn had
them print to-day fifty thousand leaflets about this strike--what it
means to his cause. And he has asked five hundred of his men to stand
on the corners and patrol the streets and distribute those dodgers.
I'll bet not a man will be missing."

"But why?" repeated Jane. "What for?"

"He wants to conquer this town. He says the world has to be
conquered--and that the way to begin is to begin--and that he has
begun."

"Conquer it for what?"

"For himself, I guess," said Hull. "Of course, he professes that it's
for the public good. They all do. But what's the truth?"

"If I saw him I could tell you," said Jane in the full pride of her
belief in her woman's power of divination in character.

"However, he can't succeed," observed Hull.

"Oh, yes, he can," replied Jane. "And will. Even if every idea he had
were foolish and wrong. And it isn't--is it?"

David laughed peculiarly. "He's infernally uncomfortably right in most
of the things he charges and proposes. I don't like to think about
it." He shut his teeth together. "I WON'T think about it," he
muttered.

"No--you'd better stick to your own road, Davy," said Jane with
irritating mockery. "You were born to be thoroughly conventional and
respectable. As a reformer you're ideal. As a--an imitator of Victor
Dorn, you'd be a joke."

"There's one of his men now," exclaimed Hull, leaning forward excitedly.

Jane looked. A working man, a commonplace enough object, was standing
under the corner street lamp, the water running off his hat, his
shoulders, his coat tail. His package of dodgers was carefully
shielded by an oilcloth from the wet which had full swing at the man.
To every passer-by he presented a dodger, accompanying the polite
gesture with some phrase which seemed to move the man or woman to take
what was offered and to put it away instead of dropping it.

Jane sank back in the carriage, disappointed. "Is that all?" said she
disdainfully.

"ALL?" cried Hull. "Use your imagination, Jen. But I forgot--you'r