So Samuel told his tale once more. And the other listened with breathless interest, and with many exclamations of incredulity and delight. When the boy had finished, he sprang up excitedly and grasped his hand. “Samuel Prescott,” he cried, “put it there! You are a brick!”
“Then you'll stand by me!” exclaimed Samuel, breathless with relief.
“Stand by you?” echoed the other. “I'll stand by you until hell freezes solid!”
Then he sat down again, and began tapping nervously on the desk with his pencil. “I'll call a special meeting of the local,” he said. “They must take you up. The movement's been slow in Lockmanville of late, and a fight like this is just what the comrades need.”
“But I'm not a Socialist!” objected Samuel.
“That's all right,” replied Everley, “we don't care about that.”
Samuel had not meant it that way, but he could not think how to make his trouble clear.
“I can get the local together to-morrow night,” went on the other. “There's no time to be lost. We must get out a lot of circulars and cover the town.”
“But I only wanted the people of the church to come,” said the boy.
“But others will come anyway,” said Everley. “And haven't the people a right to know how they've been robbed?”