Of course he would make his speech. He could not let himself be stopped by such a thing as that. But he saw at once how matters were complicated—if the police were to stop him before he had made clear what he had to say, they might ruin all his plans.
He must seek advice about it; and he went at once to the carpet factory, and sought out the little room where the Bremers sat with their drawing boards and paints.
“So that's it!” exclaimed Johann. “They vill shut you up!”
“Do you think they can?” asked the boy.
“Sure they can!” cried the other. “They hafn't let the Socialists speak on the streets for years. We should haf fought them!”
He reached for his coat. “Come,” he said. “I vill take you to see Tom Everley.”
“Who is Tom Everley?” asked the boy.
“He's a lawyer, and he vill tell you. He's the secretary of the local.”
“A Socialist!” exclaimed Samuel, startled. Again it was the Socialists!
Everley sat in a little office in an out-of-the-way street. He was a young chap, frank and boyish-looking, and Samuel's heart warmed to him at once. “Comrade Everley,” said the carpet designer, “here is a boy you ought to help. Tell him all about it, Samuel—you can trust him.”