“Of course, you know that the State of Massachusetts, some years ago, obeying the demands of the railroad corporations, which were killing a great many people, made a law that not more than five thousand dollars could be collected for a human life, lost through the fault of a railroad corporation. It’s an infamous law, but it’s there, all the same.�
“Miss Boardman wants your advice as to whether she shall accept the three thousand dollars.�
“Has she called upon Congressman Baldwin?�
“No, and she will not do so. She has too much independence for that. She will not go to him.�
“Tell Lena not to be in a hurry, to wait a few days, and I will see if I can do anything for her.�
“All right; if you can help her any she will do the fair thing by you. She ought to receive much more than they offer her. Good night.�
Wycliff sat alone some time after his visitor had gone, looking into the fire, and thinking of many things. One of his long-cherished idols had been gradually dethroned. He had been, before coming to Papyrus, a great admirer of Congressman Baldwin. It was hard for him to give up his political idol, but he had seen the workingmen of Papyrus defrauded of their votes, and Congressman Baldwin a silent and satisfied witness of the robbery. One word from Congressman Baldwin, who was the political boss of the State, would have blotted from the statute books of Massachusetts the damnable “Five-Thousand-Dollar Law;� but Congressman Baldwin never spoke the word. Instead, his puppets at Boston voted to retain the law, which shielded railroad and street railway corporations from just punishment for deaths caused by them, and robbed families of their victims. Wycliff himself, by David Baldwin’s orders, had been blacklisted in all the Baldwin industries. The spotless Deacon Surface had notified every concern controlled by the Baldwins not to give employment to John Wycliff. This was more than his idolatry would bear. A man will forgive many things, but ought he to forgive the man who tries to take the bread away from his family?
John Wycliff looked up at the face of Congressman Baldwin, on the wall opposite. He arose and took down the portrait.
“What on earth are you doing, John?� asked his wife, summoned from another room by the noise of breaking glass and splintering wood.
Bare feet came pattering down the stairs from the chamber above.