When the famous “coal conspiracy” was formed, three of the men conspicuous in it were among their intimates—that is, their families were often at his house and he and Marian were often at theirs. Yet he had never made a more relentless attack. Nor did he, either in the news columns or on the editorial page, conceal the connection of his three friends with the conspiracy.
“Mrs. Mercer was here this morning,” Marian said as they were waiting for the butler to announce dinner. She was flushed and embarrassed.
Howard laughed. “And did she tell you what a dreadful husband you had?”
“Oh, she didn’t blame you at all. She said they all knew how perfectly upright you were. Only, she said you did not understand and were doing Mr. Mercer a great injustice.”
“Well, what do you think?”
“Why—I can’t believe—is it possible, dear—I was just reading one of your editorials. Can Mr. Mercer be in such a scheme? The way she told it to me, he and the others were really doing a lot of people a valuable service, putting their property on a paying basis, enabling the railroads to meet their expenses and to keep thousands and thousands of men employed.”
“Poor Mercer!” Howard said ironically. “Poor misunderstood philanthropist! What a pity that that sort of benevolence has to be carried on by bribing judges and prosecutors and legislatures, by making the poor shiver and freeze, by subtracting from the pleasures and adding to the anxieties of millions. One would almost say that such a philanthropy had better not be undertaken. It is so likely to be misunderstood by the ‘unruly classes.’”
“Oh, I knew you were right. I told her you must be right, that you never wrote until you knew.”
“And what was the result?”
“Well, we are making some very bitter enemies.”