"They have offered to let me conduct a column for working girls, and I've accepted," she replied defiantly.
"You know it's a dirty paper," he stuck to his point. "Dirty in every way,—in its news, in its advertisements. Most of all in its rotten politics. These yellow journals are the worst enemy Socialism has to face. They mislead the people. They're paid to. All the editors are crooked—sold out. But Karner's the worst."
"I haven't anything to do with their news nor their advertising, nor with Mr. Karner's politics—I've been talking to working girls as hard as I know how for the last two years. Suddenly I get a chance to speak louder, so that thousands will hear. I might just as well refuse to speak in some of the East Side halls, because on other nights they are used for rotten dances."
"Oh, Yetta," he broke in, "you don't know what you are doing. I know it isn't the salary that makes you do it. But that's sure to be big. And Karner's not a philanthropist; he's not giving you money for nothing. He's buying something. You've got to give him his money's worth. He's buying your name. He's after circulation. He's using your name—have you seen the posters? He's using your popularity, Yetta, to sell his dirty paper to our people. He's paying you to persuade our working girls to read the filthiest paper in New York. Yetta, you don't realize what it means. It's a sort of betrayal—"
"Are you through?" she interrupted angrily.
"No, I'm not. I've got to say it all. Not because it's you and me, Yetta, but Comrade to Comrade, because we're both Socialists. They won't let you say what you want to. No capitalist paper could, least of all this rotten one. If the class struggle means anything at all, it means that they are our enemies. They won't pay you to fight against them. They'll tie you up with some sort of a contract and gag you. They are bribing you, fooling you with the promise of a big audience. But they won't—can't—let you say what you believe."
"Mr. Braun," she said, trying hard to keep her temper, but at the same time to annihilate him, "I've talked this over with a number of friends. They all urged me to accept. So you see there is room for difference of opinion. You are the only one who has opposed it. Much as I respect your opinion in most matters, in this case I must—"
"No. You must not!" he stormed, jumping up and losing control of himself more than ever before. "I say you must not."
"What right have you—"
"Right? Who's got a better right? You know I love you. I'd rather a thousand times see myself disgraced than you, Yetta. What do Mabel Train and the other women care? They see a chance to advertise their pet scheme. What do they care about your reputation, your self-respect? They think it will be good for their little Trade Union League. But I see you, Yetta—selling yourself to a bunch of crooks—not being able to do the good you want to—and always with the shame of it on you! Oh, it's too terrible."