erately, and was stepping from his
dais, when up rose big George Brotherton and cried:

"Say, Tom Van Dorn--if you want this man murdered, say so. If you want
him saved, say so. Don't polly-fox around here, dodging the issue. You
know the truth of the matter as well as--"

The court smiled tolerantly at the impetuous fellow, who was clearly in
contempt of court. The crowd waited breathlessly.

"Well, George," said the suave Judge with condescension in his tone as
he strutted into the group of lawyers and reporters about him, "if you
know so much about this case, what is the truth?" The crowd roared its
approval. "But hire a hall, George--don't bother me with it. It's out of
my jurisdiction."

So saying, he elbowed his way out of the room into his office and soon
was in his automobile, driving toward the Country Club. He had agreed to
be out of reach by telephone during the evening and that part of the
agreement he decided to keep.

After the Judge left the room Market Street rose and filed out, leaving
Grant standing among the little group of his friends. The sheriff stood
near by, chatting with the jailer and as Brotherton came up to bid Grant
good-night, Brotherton felt a piece of paper slip into his hands, when
he shook hands with Grant. "Don't let it leave your pocket until you see
me again," said Grant in a monotone, that no one noticed.

The group--Dr. Nesbit, Nathan Perry, George Brotherton and Captain
Morton--stood dazed and discouraged about Grant. No one knew exactly
what note to strike--whether of anger or of warning or of cheer. It was
Captain Morton who broke the silence.

"'Y gory, man--free speech is all right, and I'm going to stay with you,
boy, and fight it out; but, Grant, things do look mighty shaky here, and
I wonder if it's worth it--for that class of people, eh?"

From the Captain, Nathan Perry took his cue. "I should say, Grant, that
they'll make trouble to-night. Shouldn't we call out the boys from the
Valley, and--"

Grant cut in:

"Men, I know what you fear," he said. "You are afraid they will kill me.
Why, they can't kill me! All that I am that is worth living is immortal.
What difference does it make about this body?" His face was still
lighted with the glow it wore while he was addressing the court. "Ten
thousand people in the Valley have my faith. And now I know that even
this strike is not important. The coming Democracy of Labor is a
spiritual caste. And it has been planted i