y into one's
veins.

"How modern he is--how American--how like Harvey," said the young man.
"Ibsen might have lived right here in this town, and written that," he
added. He started to raise his right arm, but a twinge of pain reminded
him that the stump was bound, so he raised his left and cried:

"And I tell you, Laura--that's what I'm on earth to fight--the whole
infernal system of pocket-picking and poor-robbing, and public gouging
that we permit under the profit system." The woman's thoughts were upon
her own sorrow, but she called herself back to smile and reply:

"All right, Grant--I'm with you. We may have to draft father and
commandeer George Brotherton, and start out as a pirate crew--but I'm
with you."

"Let me tell you something," said the man. "I've not been loafing for
the past two years. I've got Harvey--the men in the mines and smelter, I
mean, fairly well unionized, but the unions are nothing--nothing
ultimate--they are only temporary."

"Well," returned the woman, soberly, "that's something."

The man made no answer. With his free hand he was ruffling his red hair,
and she could see the muscles of his jaw working, and she felt his great
mouth harden as he flashed his blue eyes upon her. "Laura," he cried,
"they may whip us this year. For a while they may scare the men into
voting for prosperity, but as sure as we both live we shall see these
times and these issues and these men who are promoting this devilish
conspiracy eternally damned--all of them--the issues, the times and the
men who are leading. And I don't want to hurt you, Laura, but," he added
solemnly, "your husband must take his punishment with the rest."

They sat mute, then each heard the plaintive cry of a child running
through the house. "She is looking for me," said Laura. In a moment a
little wet-eyed girl was in her mother's arms, crying:

"I want my daddy--my dear daddy--I want him to come home--where is he?"

She sobbed in her mother's arms and held up her little face to look
earnestly into the beautiful face above her, as she cried, "Is he
gone--Annie Sands' new mamma says my papa's never coming back--Oh, I
want my daddy--I want to go home."

She continued calling him and sobbing, and the mother rose to take the
child away.

"Laura!" cried Grant, in a passionate question. He saw the weeping child
and the grief-stricken face of the mother. In an instant he held out his
bony left hand to her and said gently: "God help you-