“Do repeat it,” said Mrs. Kendrick, as curious as if her husband had just returned from a visit to the South Sea Island savages. “Well, he said, among other things, that Count Frauenstein’s address to them a week ago had touched them deeply, even independently of the magnificent promise of the Social Palace, which was something they could not yet realize as possible—touched them deeply because he had recognized the dignity of labor, and the rights of laborers to a just share of the products of their industry.” “Oh, he’s filling their heads with that stuff, is he?” said Burnham. “Not all stuff. No man could talk to men and win such unbounded admiration without talking soundly. I tell you, I’m more than ever convinced that we are old fogies. This laborer said workingmen knew perfectly well they were far below the educated gentleman in refinement, in manners, in culture—in everything, perhaps, but heart. He thought no men had more heart than workingmen, and workingmen knew their true friends just as quickly as they knew the true gentleman from the sham. ‘I felt,’ he said, ‘as the count talked, that I could not do enough to express my gratitude that God had sent us so true and noble a friend—a man disclaiming the idea of charity, and avowing that the best help a workman could have, was that which gave him a field wherein he could help himself. I felt, as he talked of our building ourselves a palace, that I would work my own fingers off to build him and his a palace, for he deserves it, God bless him!’ and the man sat down, quite overcome.” “Oh, I wish I had been there,” said Mrs. Kendrick. “He must be a sensible man.” “Did Frauenstein say anything?” asked Burnham.