"Sir," said Parks, striking the table angrily, "it is my misfortune."
"Misfortune?" I laughed inquiringly, and the others laughed in sympathy.
"Misfortune--yes, sir. I repeat it. I have had schooling and to spare. And if it wasn't for that, I could raise this city in arms in a month."
My left-hand neighbor was an old man, a little bent with years, who had been looking about the table with dreamy eye. But at Parks' boastful words his face lighted and he gave a cackling laugh.
"Heh, heh! He's right," he said, addressing the rest of us. "There's a crowd of thieves and robbers on top and they need a taking-down. Parks is just the one to do it."
"You're wrong, Merwin," said Parks, calming down and looking at the old man reflectively. "I'm not the one to do it."
"And why not?" I asked.
"It's the cursed education you speak of," said Parks fiercely. "I am with the masses, but not of them. They mistrust me. Try as I will I can't get their confidence. I can't rouse them. They shout for me, they applaud me, but I can't stir them as they must be stirred before the Revolution can begin."
"What sort of man do you want?" I asked.
"He must be a man of the people," said Parks.