ool, to the man you must have become to do such a
thing at the trial?"

The suddenness of his outburst startled and frightened me. He ripped*
out a savage oath, and clenched his fist as though about to strike me.

* It is interesting to note the virilities of language that
were common speech in that day, as indicative of the life,
'red of claw and fang,' that was then lived. Reference is
here made, of course, not to the oath of Smith, but to the
verb ripped used by Avis Everhard.

"I beg your pardon," he said the next moment. "No, it was not easy. And
now I guess you can go away. You've got all you wanted out of me. But
let me tell you this before you go. It won't do you any good to repeat
anything I've said. I'll deny it, and there are no witnesses. I'll deny
every word of it; and if I have to, I'll do it under oath on the witness
stand."

After my interview with Smith I went to my father's office in
the Chemistry Building and there encountered Ernest. It was quite
unexpected, but he met me with his bold eyes and firm hand-clasp, and
with that curious blend of his awkwardness and ease. It was as though
our last stormy meeting was forgotten; but I was not in the mood to have
it forgotten.

"I have been looking up Jackson's case," I said abruptly.

He was all interested attention, and waited for me to go on, though I
could see in his eyes the certitude that my convictions had been shaken.

"He seems to have been badly treated," I confessed. "I--I--think some of
his blood is dripping from our roof-beams."

"Of course," he answered. "If Jackson and all his fellows were treated
mercifully, the dividends would not be so large."

"I shall never be able to take pleasure in pretty gowns again," I added.

I felt humble and contrite, and was aware of a sweet feeling that
Ernest was a sort of father confessor. Then, as ever after, his strength
appealed to me. It seemed to radiate a promise of peace and protection.

"Nor will you be able to take pleasure in sackcloth," he said gravely.
"There are the jute mills, you know, and the same thing goes on there.
It goes on everywhere. Our boasted civilization is based upon blood,
soaked in blood, and neither you nor I nor any of us can escape the
scarlet stain. The men you talked with--who were they?"

I told him all that had taken place.

"And not one of them was a free agent," he said. "They were all tied to
the merciless industrial machine. And