“Which shall be overthrown by your own pet earthquake, Carker,” said Frank.
“Even you, Merriwell,” cried Greg—“you do not seem willing to take life earnestly.”
“I am not willing to take life at all, my dear boy. I wouldn’t even kill a cat—unless she disturbed my slumbers.”
“That’s it!” Carker ejaculated, with a despairing gesture. “You pervert my meaning! You are not willing to look a thing squarely in the face. That same frivolous disposition possesses all the young men of our land who find themselves in fairly comfortable circumstances. They take no thought of the burdens of the poor and oppressed. They give no heed to the groans of the great mass of downtrodden slaves who are laboring for day pay at starvation wages.”
“He’s off!” cried Ready. “Cluk! cluk! git ap!”
Carker had risen to his feet. Having found an opportunity to launch forth on his pet hobby, he gave no heed to any interruption. Without noticing Ready in the least, he went on, his pale face flushing and his eyes glowing as his earnestness increased:
“But it is not altogether the young who are thus heedless of the storm-clouds gathering over our fair land. It is not altogether the rich. The great middle class seem just as careless. The moaning and the groaning of the shackled slaves of toil and oppression disturb them not. The muttering thunder behind the rising storm-cloud falls on deaf ears.”
“Get your umbrellas, fellows!” whispered Ready hoarsely. “We’re going to have a shower this time. The earthquake has a day off.”
“False prophets tell of growing prosperity and better times coming. They are liars, and sons of liars!” cried Carker, becoming more and more impassioned as he proceeded. “Already the common people are writhing in the grasp of the gigantic monopolies, which threaten to crush the life out of our nation. Already the tide of discontent is beating with threatening throbs against the sea-wall of money power.”