“Yes,” growled the marshal. “It’s easy enough for you smart young chaps to make verses, while you’re living at ease on the old man’s bounty. But that don’t answer any argument. Are you college boys ready to take over his job? Or these Democrat politicians that come in here, talking fool-talk about liberty, making labour laws for these wops--” “I begin to understand,” said Hal. “You object to the politicians who pass the laws, you doubt their motives--and so you refuse to obey. But why didn’t you tell me sooner you were an anarchist?” “Anarchist?” cried the marshal. “_Me_ an anarchist?” “That’s what an anarchist is, isn’t it?” “Good God! If that isn’t the limit! You come here, stirring up the men--a union agitator, or whatever you are--and you know that the first idea of these people, when they do break loose, is to put dynamite in the shafts and set fire to the buildings!” “Do they do that?” There was surprise in Hal’s tone. “Haven’t you read what they did in the last big strike? That dough-faced old preacher, John Edstrom, could tell you. He was one of the bunch.” “No,” said Hal, “you’re mistaken. Edstrom has a different philosophy. But others did, I’ve no doubt. And since I’ve been here, I can understand their point of view entirely. When they set fire to the buildings, it was because they thought you and Alec Stone might be inside.” The marshal did not smile. “They want to destroy the properties,” continued Hal, “because that’s the only way they can think of to punish the tyranny and greed of the owners. But, Cotton, suppose some one were to put a new idea into their heads; suppose some one were to say to them, ‘Don’t destroy the properties--_take them!_’” The other stared. “Take them! So that’s your idea of morality!” “It would be more moral than the method by which Peter got them in the beginning.” “What method is that?” demanded the marshal, with some appearance of indignation. “He paid the market-price for them, didn’t he?” “He paid the market-price for politicians. Up in Western City I happen to know a lady who was a school-commissioner when he was buying school-lands from the state--lands that were known to contain coal. He was paying three dollars an acre, and everybody knew they were worth three thousand.” “Well,” said Cotton, “if you don’t buy the politicians, you wake up some fine morning and find that somebody else has bought them. If you have property, you have to protect it.” “Cotton,” said Hal, “you sell Old Peter your time--but surely you might keep part of your brains! Enough to look at your monthly pay-check and realise that you too are a wage-slave, not much better than the miners you despise.” The other smiled. “My check might be bigger, I admit; but I’ve figured over it, and I think I have an easier time than you agitators. I’m top-dog, and I expect to stay on top.”