“But that is not the question. I am the Master. I mean to be the Master. And I tell you these negroes shall not come.”
“The people—”
“I believe in the people.”
“Because you are an anachronism. You are a man out of the Past—an accident. You are Owner perhaps of half the property in the world. But you are not Master. You do not know enough to be Master.”
He glanced at Lincoln again. “I know now what you think—I can guess something of what you mean to do. Even now it is not too late to warn you. You dream of human equality—of a socialistic order—you have all those worn-out dreams of the nineteenth century fresh and vivid in your mind, and you would rule this age that you do not understand.”
“Listen!” said Graham. “You can hear it—a sound like the sea. Not voices—but a voice. Do you altogether understand?”
“We taught them that,” said Ostrog.
“Perhaps. Can you teach them to forget it? But enough of this! These negroes must not come.”
There was a pause and Ostrog looked him in the eyes.
“They will,” he said.