tion
is to twist truth at the command of your employers, who, in turn, obey
the behests of the corporations."

"I haven't anything to do with that." He looked uncomfortable for the
moment, then brightened as he saw his way out. "I, myself, do not write
untruthful things. I keep square all right with my own conscience. Of
course, there's lots that's repugnant in the course of the day's work.
But then, you see, that's all part of the day's work," he wound up
boyishly.

"Yet you expect to sit at an editor's desk some day and conduct a
policy."

"I'll be case-hardened by that time," was his reply.

"Since you are not yet case-hardened, tell me what you think right now
about the general editorial policy."

"I don't think," he answered quickly. "One can't kick over the ropes
if he's going to succeed in journalism. I've learned that much, at any
rate."

And he nodded his young head sagely.

"But the right?" I persisted.

"You don't understand the game. Of course it's all right, because it
comes out all right, don't you see?"

"Delightfully vague," I murmured; but my heart was aching for the youth
of him, and I felt that I must either scream or burst into tears.

I was beginning to see through the appearances of the society in which I
had always lived, and to find the frightful realities that were beneath.
There seemed a tacit conspiracy against Jackson, and I was aware of a
thrill of sympathy for the whining lawyer who had ingloriously fought
his case. But this tacit conspiracy grew large. Not alone was it aimed
against Jackson. It was aimed against every workingman who was maimed in
the mills. And if against every man in the mills, why not against every
man in all the other mills and factories? In fact, was it not true of
all the industries?

And if this was so, then society was a lie. I shrank back from my own
conclusions. It was too terrible and awful to be true. But there was
Jackson, and Jackson's arm, and the blood that stained my gown and
dripped from my own roof-beams. And there were many Jacksons--hundreds
of them in the mills alone, as Jackson himself had said. Jackson I could
not escape.

I saw Mr. Wickson and Mr. Pertonwaithe, the two men who held most of the
stock in the Sierra Mills. But I could not shake them as I had shaken
the mechanics in their employ. I discovered that they had an ethic
superior to that of the rest of society. It was what I may call the
aristocratic ethic or the master ethic