The lawyer placed his glasses on his nose, and leaned forward, eagerly, towards Tom.
The argument was not without its effect. Tom had long been led to believe that corporations were tyrannical monsters. But the boy’s inherent sense of right and wrong was proof against even this specious plea.
“All the same,” he said, “I can’t make out ’at it’s right to burn a breaker. Why,” he continued, “you might say the same thing if it’d ’a been murder.”
Pleadwell saw that he was on the wrong track with this clear-headed boy.
“Well,” he said, settling back in his chair, “if peaceful persuasion will not avail, I trust you are prepared, in case of disclosure, to meet whatever the Molly Maguires have in store for you?”
“Yes,” answered Tom, boldly, “I am. I’ve been afraid of ’em, an’ that’s what’s kept me from tellin’; but I won’t be a coward any more; they can do what they’re a mind to with me.”
The lawyer was in a quandary, and Carolan shot angry glances at Tom. Here was a lad who held Jack Rennie’s fate in his hands, and whom neither fear nor persuasion could move. What was to be done?
Pleadwell motioned to Carolan, and they rose and left the room together; while Tom sat, with tumultuously beating heart, but with constantly increasing resolution.
The men were gone but a few moments, and came back with satisfied looks on their faces.
“I have learned,” said the lawyer, addressing Tom, in a voice laden with apparent sympathy, “that you have a younger brother who is blind. That is a sad affliction.”