"That’s all well enough, Parks," said Kearney at last, "but we’ve tried ’em on that, an’ it’s no go. Whin I tell ’em the haythin is taking the bread out of their mouths and ivery pigtail ought to be driven into the say, they holler till I can’t hear me own voice. But whin I tell thim that society has got to be reorganized, an’ that times will niver be right till the collective capital of the nation is administhered by the nation’s ripresintatives--those are the worrds, aren’t they, Parks?--they shake their heads and say, ’What th’ divil is he dhrivin’ at?’ I can git five thousand men to follow me to Chinatown to-night to burn the haythin out if I but say th’ worrd, but I couldn’t git fifty to follow me to the City Hall to turn th’ mayor out." The others nodded assent to Kearney’s words; but Parks’ face had been growing blacker and blacker, and now he broke forth impetuously: "By heavens! If they don’t see their own interests, they must be made to see them. What are our tongues given us for but to tell them of the things they can’t see for themselves? The wrong, degradation and poverty we see about us are no more due to the petty evils of Chinese competition than to the wearing of machine-made shoes. They are due to the control of industry by capital--to the system that puts a thousand men to work for the benefit of one man instead of for the benefit of all men. The Chinese now do injure the white man. But you put the capital and labor of the nation under control of the nation’s representatives, and the labor of the Chinese would injure nobody--would help instead of hurt. The more the Chinaman produced, the more there would be to divide, and the less the Chinaman lived on, the more there would be for the rest of us. We must make capital the servant, not the master, of mankind. Wipe out the old system! Bring in the new!" Parks had grown more and more excited as he talked, and his hair stood out aggressively from the emphatic nods with which he had pointed his declamation. "Do you mean that you want us to start a rebellion?" growled Enos. "Successful rebellions are revolutions," cried Parks, "and it is a revolution that society demands." "Well, society isn’t demanding it out loud," said Kearney. "We must work through the ballot-box," said Enos, "we must keep within the law." At this word there was a harsh croak behind me, and I turned to see the white pasty face of H. Blasius gloating over us, his fat forefinger pointed at Enos. "Law!" he cried. "It is ze superstition of _politique_ imposed on us by ze capitalist, as ze superstition of moral is imposed on us by ze priest. When we say _Non_--no more for us--zen it is gone--we are free. Let us say _Pouf!_ away! we make laws to suit ourself. Eh, _mes braves_?" "Pooh!" said Enos. "You’re talking nonsense."