ently. Evidently another assessor had suddenly pounced in upon his
imagination. For he shuffled into the street.

Mr. Brotherton sat by the fire, leaning forward, with his fingers locked
between his knees. The warning against Grant Adams that Tom Van Dorn had
given him had impressed him. He knew Market Street was against Grant
Adams. But he did not realize that Market Street's attitude was only a
reflex of the stir in the Valley. All Market streets over the earth feel
more or less acutely changes which portend in the workshops, often
before those changes come. We are indeed "members one of another," and
the very aspirations of those who dream of better things register in the
latent fears of those who live on trade. We are so closely compact in
our organization that a man may not even hope without crowding his
neighbor. And in that little section of the great world which men knew
as Market Street in Harvey, the surest evidence of the changing attitude
of the men in the Valley toward their work, was found not in the crowds
that gathered in Belgian Hall week after week to hear Grant Adams, not
in the war-chest which was filling to overflowing, not in the gardens
checkered upon the hillsides, but rather in the uneasiness of Market
Street. The reactions were different in Market Street and in the Valley;
but it was one vision rising in the same body, each part responding
according to its own impulses. Of course Market Street has its side, and
George Brotherton was not blind to it. Sitting by his fire that raw
March day, he realized that Market Street was never a crusader, and why.
He could see that the men from whom the storekeepers bought goods on
ninety days' time, 3 per cent. off for cash, were not crusaders. When a
man turned up among them with a six-months' crusade for an evanescent
millennium, flickering just a few years ahead, the wholesalers of the
city and the retailers of Market Street nervously began thumbing over
their rapidly accumulating "bills payable" and began using crisp,
scratchy language toward the crusader.

It made Brotherton pause when he thought how they might involve and
envelop him--as a family man. For as he sat there, the man's mind kept
thinking of children. And his mind wandered to the thought of his wife
and his home--and the little ones that might be. As his mind clicked
back to Amos Adams, and to the strange family that would produce three
boys as unlike as Grant and Jasper and Kenyon, he bega