“That’s where my wage slaves toil to earn my dividends,” said she. “They’re supposed to stay there—in their ‘place,’ as it’s called, and I stay here in my place. If they want to change places, it’s called ‘revolution,’ and that is ‘violence.’ What I marvel at is that they use so little violence, and feel so little. Look at those men being tortured in jail! Could anyone blame them if they used violence? Or if they made an effort to escape?”
That suggested a swift, stabbing idea to Peter. Suppose Mrs. Godd could be induced to help in a jail delivery!
“It might be possible to help them to escape,” he suggested.
“Do you think so?” asked Mrs. Godd, showing excitement for the first time during that interview.
“It might be,” said Peter. “Those jailors are not above taking bribes, you know. I met nearly all of them while I was in that jail, and I think I might get in touch with one or two that could be paid. Would you like me to try it?”
“Well, I don’t know—” began the lady, hesitatingly. “Do you really think—”
“You know they never ought to have been put in at all!” Peter interjected.
“That’s certainly true!” declared Mrs. Godd.
“And if they could escape without hurting anyone, if they didn’t have to fight the jailors, it wouldn’t do any real harm—”
That was as far as Peter got with his impromptu conspiracy. Suddenly he heard a voice behind him: “What does this mean?” It was a male voice, fierce and trembling with anger; and Peter started from his silken cushions, and glanced around, thrusting up one arm with the defensive gesture of a person who has been beaten since earliest childhood.