left me I began to think of the project you mentioned, and I have talked
it over with one or two of my associates. I would gladly hold this
conference, but it does not now seem wise for us to do so. The interests
we represent are too important to be jeopardized. In theory you are
undoubtedly right, but in this case I think you will agree with me (when
you think it over), we must not show any weakness. Come and stop with
us to-night: Mrs. Vedder will be overjoyed to see you and we'll have
another fine talk.

I confess I was a good deal cast down as I read this letter.

"What interests are so important?" I asked myself, "that they should
keep friends apart?"

But I was given only a moment for reflection for the door opened and my
friend Bill, together with R---- D---- and several other members of the
committee, came out. I put the letter in my pocket, and for a moment my
brain never worked under higher pressure. What should I say to them now?
How could I explain myself?

Bill Hahn was evidently labouring under considerable excitement, but
R---- D---- was as calm as a judge. He sat down in the chair opposite
and said to me:

"We've been figuring out this proposition of Mr. Vedder's. Your idea is
all right, and it would be a fine thing if we could really get together
as you suggest upon terms of common understanding and friendship."

"Just what Mr. Vedder said," I exclaimed.

"Yes," he continued, "it's all right in theory; but in this case it
simply won't work. Don't you see it's got to be war? Your friend and I
could probably understand each other--but this is a class war. It's all
or nothing with us, and your friend Vedder knows it as well as we do."

After some further argument and explanation, I said:

"I see: and this is Socialism."

"Yes," said the great R---- D----, "this is Socialism."

"And it's force you would use," I said.

"It's force THEY use," he replied.

After I left the strike headquarters that evening--for it was almost
dark before I parted with the committee--I walked straight out through
the crowded streets, so absorbed in my thoughts that I did not know
in the least where I was going. The street lights came out, the crowds
began to thin away, I heard a strident song from a phonograph at the
entrance to a picture show, and as I passed again in front of the great,
dark, many-windowed mill which had made my friend Vedder a rich man I
saw a sentinel turn slowly at the corner. The light glint