"Yes." She was conscious of his friendliness, of the fact that his skepticism was not cynical, yet she felt a strong desire to convince him, to vindicate her new creed. "There's a man named Rolfe, an educated man who's lived in Italy and England, who explains it wonderfully. He's one of the I.W.W. leaders—you ought to hear him."
"Rolfe converted you? I'll go to hear him."
"Yes—but you have to feel it, you have to know what it is to be kept down and crushed. If you'd only stay here awhile."
"Oh, I intend to," he replied.
She could not have said why, but she felt a certain relief on hearing this.
"Then you'll see for yourself!" she cried. "I guess that's what you've come for, isn't it?"
"Well, partly. To tell the truth, I've come to open a restaurant."
"To open a restaurant!" Somehow she was unable to imagine him as the proprietor of a restaurant. "But isn't it rather a bad time?" she gasped.
"I don't look as if I had an eye for business—do I? But I have. No, it's a good time—so many people will be hungry, especially children. I'm going to open a restaurant for children. Oh, it will be very modest, of course—I suppose I ought to call it a soup kitchen."
"Oh!" she exclaimed, staring at him. "Then you really—" the sentence remained unfinished. "I'm sorry," she said simply. "You made me think—"