Mr. Allison felt like laughing again, but politely refrained.
"I have been accused of a number of things in my life," he said, good-naturedly, "but, until to-day, murder has been omitted from the list."
"There are different modes of procedure—but murder is murder after all!"
"Certainly, but I was not aware that I had been connected with a 'procedure.'"
"Men deal out slow death for gold and trust its clinking rattle to still the groans and cryings that they cause." Jean spoke reflectively, as if to herself. "In savage countries where there is no Christianity, where all is black, human life is sometimes offered as a sacrifice to gods. Here in Christian America an altar is piled high with mother hearts and manhood and immortal souls.
"This sacrifice goes on unceasingly; the altar fires are never out, and the wail of the little ones and the groans of the crushed that go up from this great altar only cause this god to laugh.
"This god is made of atoms. EVERY ATOM IS A MAN.
"All this time the Christian men of this Christian nation stand around in a great circle, weeping and calling on a Christian's God to hasten the day when this other god shall be ground to dust, meantime mocking their God by legalizing this monstrous thing with their ballots."
Mr. Allison had probably never heard a young lady talk exactly as this one talked, and yet he enjoyed it, and watched the motion of her hand as she used it to impress her words.