“That may be,” retorted Oakley, hotly, “but Antioch has been getting its share of his money, too. Don't forget that. There's not a store-keeper in this audience whose bank account will not show, in hard American dollars, what General Cornish does for Antioch when Antioch is willing to let him do for it. But, granted that what you have said is true, who can best afford to meet the present situation? General Cornish or these men? On whom does the hardship fall heavier, on them or on him?”
“That was not the spirit which prevailed at Bunker Hill and Lexington! No, thank God! our fathers did not stop to count the cost, and we have our battles to-day just as vital to the cause of humanity; and I, for one, would rather see the strong arm of labor wither in its socket than submit to wrong or injustice!”
Oakley choked down his disgust and moved towards the door. There was applause and one or two cat-calls. Not heeding them, he made his way from the building. He had reached the street when a detaining hand was placed upon his arm. He turned savagely, but it proved to be only Turner Joyce, who stepped to his side, with a cheerful:
“Good-evening, Mr. Oakley. They seem to be having a very gay time in there, don't they?”
“Have you been in?” demanded Oakley, grimly.
“I? Oh, no! I have just been taking a picture home.”
“Well,” said Oakley, “I have just been making a damned fool of myself. I hope that is something you are never guilty of, Mr. Joyce?” Joyce laughed, and tucked his hand through his companion's arm.
“Doesn't every one do that occasionally?” he asked.
Dan shook off his bitterness. Recently he had been seeing a great deal of the little artist and his wife, who were about the only friends he or his father had left in Antioch. They walked on in silence Joyce was too tactful to ask any questions concerning his friend's affairs, so he ventured an impersonal criticism on Kenyon, with the modest diffidence of a man who knows he is going counter to public sentiment.
“Neither Ruth nor I had any curiosity to hear him speak to-night. I heard him when he was here last. It may be my bringing up, but I do like things that are not altogether rotten, and I'm afraid I count him as sort of decayed.” Then he added: “I suppose everybody was at the Rink to-night?”