the corporations in the decreased wages, and made
up to the State by increased taxation. It will not do, I tell you. We
need a much bigger and a dearer demonstration."

The speaker had risen, and was gazing into the faces of his auditors.
As he paused and brushed the light hair away from his eyes, the air
disturbed by the movement sent the smoke cloud blowing about his head.

"Now, that's just what we don't want, Schrieber!" broke in Nevins
impatiently. "You go 'round raisin' a row and gettin' up a riot, and
you'll turn all the sympathy of the press and the public against the
people we're tryin' to help."

The man did not reply at once, but stood gazing at the labour leader as
though struggling to keep back some retort.

"You do not understand me," he said at length--"I counsel no violence--I
do not advocate riot. But not because I fear to lose the sympathy of the
press and the public. You have had that, and with what result? Aren't
wages lower than ever, and isn't work more difficult to get every day we
live? And who is your 'public'? The few well-to-do who never think
unless their comfort's disturbed? I tell you the real public is the
many poor, the constantly increasing poor, and not the few rich! Your
demonstration must teach the rich to think--it must redeem the poor from
themselves!"

His glance turned from the faces before him, and seemed to centre beyond
and above them. The listening men drew closer to the speaker. The room
was so still I could hear the empty cable rattling in the street below.

"It is an awful disease--a disease of the blood--to be cured by
blood--the only price the rich cannot afford to pay--blood, the
redemption of the world throughout all generations--the blood of the
Lamb."

He spoke the words dreamily, as though to himself. Then, with gathering
energy and rapidity--

"Wait as you have waited, and you will see the disease spread--the
public you are trying to reach grow blind to your affliction, deaf to
your cries. Riot, and you will only lend virtue to oppression and
injustice. The hour is at hand for a great sacrifice--the time is ripe
for redemption. The public you would propitiate fears death--loathes
blood. For these alone will it stop and think--all else touches only
what money can cure. But death arrests--blood you cannot buy. Make them
take what they cannot return--make them shed blood they cannot wash out.
No, not with their tears!"

He paused again and gazed into the fa