“Judge Graham talked about it.”
“In illustration of his general point. Miss Martin, I understand, talks of nothing else. She is an extreme radical—a professional firebrand. I am surprised to find a man of your standing in sympathy with her ideas.”
“I’m not—altogether,” replied Clark. “That is scarcely a sufficient reason for not listening to them. I want our students to hear her side of the case—undistorted.”
“We cannot lend unsound cases the weight of university authority,” said the President.
“Judge Graham’s case was thoroughly unsound,” said Clark. “Vida Martin is, as you say, an extreme radical. But we have listened to an extreme reactionary. If it is the policy of the University not to take sides, it cannot invite him to speak and refuse to let her. Her subject, I ought to say, is general—the Ideals of Syndicalism. As to her soundness: she knows industrial unionism from the inside—her own experience as organizer. She knows its leaders personally. All Judge Graham knows is his own prejudice against labor and some newspaper stories.”
The President swung back to his desk and arranged some papers.
Clark sat there looking irritatingly thorough.
“What made you take the responsibility of discussing this with Vida Martin?” the President demanded.
“I met her on the train from Manistee last night. I used to know her at Hull House. She spoke of the dismissal of Brooks and Gleason here last year for insisting on their right to express their real ideas, and made the sweeping claim that there is no free speech in any American university. I said I’d disprove that by getting Assembly Hall for her. If she can’t have it, it seems to bear out her charge against us.”
“Haven’t you yourself enjoyed freedom of speech here?”