"Sir," cried Parks, shaking his finger in my face and speaking rapidly and excitedly, "your speech betrays you. You speak of the lower ten million. They are not the lower--no, by Heaven! Your heart is not with the people. There is nothing in you that beats responsive to their cry of distress. You may be as poor as the rest of us, but your feelings, your prejudices are with the despoilers of labor, the oppressors of the lowly. You are--" What further offense of aristocracy he would have charged upon my head I know not, for Clark reached over and seized his arm. "Hold on!" he cried. "Mr. Hampden is our guest and a good fellow, so don’t be too hard on him. He ain’t educated yet. That’s all the matter with him. Give him time." Parks’ voice had been rising and his utterance had been growing more rapid and excited, but he lowered his tones once more. "No offense, Hampden, but my blood boils at the wrongs inflicted on the downtrodden slaves of the wage system, and I speak my mind." "Oh, go ahead," I said. "It doesn’t worry me. Come to think of it, Mr. Parks, you don’t seem to be one of the slaves of the wage system yourself. You are, I take it from your words and ways, a man of education and something more." "Sir," said Parks, striking the table angrily, "it is my misfortune." "Misfortune?" I laughed inquiringly, and the others laughed in sympathy. "Misfortune--yes, sir. I repeat it. I have had schooling and to spare. And if it wasn’t for that, I could raise this city in arms in a month." My left-hand neighbor was an old man, a little bent with years, who had been looking about the table with dreamy eye. But at Parks’ boastful words his face lighted and he gave a cackling laugh. "Heh, heh! He’s right," he said, addressing the rest of us. "There’s a crowd of thieves and robbers on top and they need a taking-down. Parks is just the one to do it." "You’re wrong, Merwin," said Parks, calming down and looking at the old man reflectively. "I’m not the one to do it." "And why not?" I asked. "It’s the cursed education you speak of," said Parks fiercely. "I am with the masses, but not of them. They mistrust me. Try as I will I can’t get their confidence. I can’t rouse them. They shout for me, they applaud me, but I can’t stir them as they must be stirred before the Revolution can begin." "What sort of man do you want?" I asked. "He must be a man of the people," said Parks. "By which you mean a day-laborer, I judge." Parks ignored the interruption and went on: "He must have eloquence, courage, and he must understand men; he must be a statesman by nature--a man of brains. But he must be one of the class he addresses." "But how are you going to get a man of brains out of that class?" I inquired. Parks struck the table a sounding blow with his fist, shook his head until his shock of hair stood out in protest, and glared at me fiercely.