“Yes, father, it is certainly true that men excel us in physical strength; but is that any reason why women should be paid less for their work and taxed quite as heavily on their property—if they happen to have any?” she concluded with a laugh.
“No, I think not,” was his smiling rejoinder. “Ah, what is wrong, I wonder!” as at that instant the man in charge of the Dolphin was seen coming with swift strides up from the wharf toward the house. They stood still, watching him in silence till he drew near enough for speech; then the captain asked, “What is it, Mr. Bailey?”
“Oh, Captain Raymond, I have a dreadful piece of news for you,” was the reply, in a tone that spoke of disturbed feeling; “news from Buffalo that President McKinley has been shot.”
“Shot intentionally? murdered?” asked the captain, in tones that spoke astonishment and horror.
“Yes, sir; the work of an anarchist of unpronounceable name. If I had my way anarchists should be promptly expelled from this land and forever excluded from it.”
“Is McKinley dead?” asked Max.
“No; but the wound is supposed to be mortal; noted surgeons are attending him but have hardly a hope of being able to save his life.”
“And what have they done with his murderer?” asked Max. “Torn him limb from limb?”
“That’s what would have been done by the crowd in building and street, if the police hadn’t been able to keep them off till they could get him into prison.”
“It was what he deserved,” said Max hotly and with emotion; “but the police did their duty; every criminal has a right to trial by judge and jury.”