Or, in his travels, had he ever seen that little pamphlet entitled, “Dynamite as a Revolutionary Agency?”
No.
But despite the denial, it was plain to see that my old German was the anarchist that my committee had decided him to be. So I sent out word that the boys should redouble their kindness to their half-crazed friend. It was an opportunity to try our simple methods upon a man who felt that the sad old world and its many peoples were as utterly lost as a man may become who believes that there is no good within himself. Men who feel themselves to be evil, they work evil.
Hardly had a fortnight passed before our good anarchist caught the spirit of the place and began to feel that kindly sympathy that dwells even in the hearts of stranded men. The young men grew really fond of him.
At night he was the last man to knock at my door to see that everything had been given attention; in the morning he was the first to ask what I wished done.
It was a cheery “good night” and a cheery “good morning.” After several months our anarchist succeeded in finding his brother’s address in Philadelphia. The brother offered him a home and a chance to work, so it was arranged for our friend to go to him.
As he was bidding me “adieu” he said: "When we first met, you asked me if I had read any anarchistic writings, and I answered you untruthfully. I have read the authors you mentioned, and in my desperation I do not know to what extreme I might not have gone, for I had lost faith in all men.
"But to see these young men at the Colony, forgetful of their own troubles, trying to help me to a renewal of courage, gave me a clearer viewpoint of life—the blood I see now in my dreams is not that of the capitalist done to death by a communistic mob—it is the blood of the gentle Christ, who said: