“True, sir! Your proofs have been striking, and I do not feel myself competent to refute them. But I can point you to something more powerful than argument. Look at this scene; see these happy people meeting and enjoying one another's society in most admirable harmony and order. Is not this spectacle a beautiful illustration and vindication of the moral spirit of progress?”
“These people are jubilant from the effect of beer, why shouldn't they be? But, sir, a profound observer does not ‘suffer himself to be deceived by mere appearances.’ ”
An uproar and commotion at a distance interrupted the millionaire. At the same instant a policeman approached out of breath.
“Your honor, the factorymen and the laborers are attacking one another!”
“What are you raising such alarm for,” said Hans Shund gruffly. “It is only a small squabble, such as will occur everywhere in a crowd.”
“I ask your honor's pardon: it is not a small squabble, it is a bloody battle.”
“Well, part the wranglers.”
“We cannot manage them; there are too many of them. Shall I apply for military?”
“Hell and thunder—military!” cried Hans Shund, getting on his feet. “Are you in your senses?”
“Several men have already been carried off badly wounded,” reported the policeman further. “You have no idea how serious the affray is, and it is getting more and more so; the friends of both sides are rushing in to aid their own party. The police force is not a match for them.”