“I’ve been to see Mr. Irving, Dad, and he’s in trouble, he can’t get a teaching job anywhere. They’ve got him blacklisted. You see, he has to mention that he’s been teaching at Southern Pacific the last two years, and the people write to enquire about him, and he’s convinced that somebody in the university is telling them he’s a red.”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” said Dad. “But that’s not your fault.”
“Yes, it is, Dad! I was the one that dragged him out and made him talk to me. I thought I could keep it to myself, but they had some one spying on us.”
“Well, son, is he trying to borrow money from you?”
“No, I offered him a little, but he wouldn’t take it. But I know he needs it, and I’ve been talking about it with Harry Seager, and with Peter Nagle—they know some of the labor men in the city, and they think there is a possibility of starting a labor college here. We all agree that Mr. Irving is the ideal man to run it.”
“A labor college?” said Dad. “That’s a new one on me.”
“It’s to educate the young workers.”
“But why can’t they go to the regular schools, that are free?”
“They don’t teach them anything about labor. At least they don’t teach them anything that’s true. So the labor men are founding places where bright young fellows can be fitted to take their part in the labor struggle.”
Dad thought it over. “You mean, son, it’s a place where a bunch of you reds teach Socialism and such stuff.”