the price--not now." She turned to look at Mr. Brotherton
inquiringly as she said: "But what I come in to talk to you about,
George, was Grant. Have you noticed in the last few months--that
growing--well--it's more than enthusiasm, George; it's a fanaticism.
Since he has been working on the garden plan--Grant has been getting
wilder and wilder in his talk about the Democracy of labor. Have you
noticed it--or am I oversensitive?"

Brotherton, poking idly in the fire, did not answer at once. At length
he said:

"Grant's a zealot. He's full of this prisms, prunes and peace idea, this
sweetness and light revolution, this notion of hitching their hop-dreams
to these three-acre plots, and preaching non-resistance. It's coming a
little fast for me, Laura--just a shade too many at times. But, on the
other hand--there's Nate Perry. He's as cold-blooded a Yankee as ever
swindled a father--and he's helping with the scheme. He's--"

"He has no faith in the Democracy of Labor. He hoots," interrupted
Laura. "What he's doing is working for a more efficient lot of laboring
men, so that when the time comes when the unions shall ask and get more
definite control of the factories and mines, in the way of wage-setting,
and price-making, they will bring some sense with their control. He's
merely looking after himself--in the last analysis; but Grant's going
mad. George, he actually believes that when this thing wins here in the
Valley--the peaceful strike, the rise of labor, and the theory of
non-resistance--he's going over the world, and in a few years will have
labor emancipated. Have you heard him--that is, recently?"

"Well, yes, a week or so ago," answered Brotherton, "and he was going it
at a pretty fair clip for a minute then. Well, say--I mean--what should
we do?" he asked, drumming with the poker on the hearth. "Laura,"
Brotherton ran his eyes from the poker until they met her frank, gray
eyes, "Grant would listen to you before he would listen to any one else
on earth or in Heaven--I'm sure of that."

"Then what shall we do?" she asked. "We mustn't let him wreck
himself--and all these people? What ought I--"

A shadow fell across the door, and in another moment there stood in the
opening of the alcove the tall, lean figure of Thomas Van Dorn.

When Laura was gone, Van Dorn, after more or less polite circumlocution,
began to unfold a plan of Market Street to buy the _Daily Times_
and bring Jared Thurston back to Harvey to run