"You needn’t distress yourself, Miss Laura," said Mr. Baldwin, with an air of contempt for the difficulties of the unemployed. "You couldn’t drive those fellows to work with a Gatling gun. This talk about Chinese taking away their jobs is just an excuse for them to get out on street corners and howl about their wrongs, in the hope that somebody like you and Mercy will set up a soup-house for them." "I am afraid you haven’t looked into the matter," said Miss Fillmore. "Our Helping Hand Society has found much real distress from want of employment. You don’t agree with Mr. Baldwin, do you, Mr. Hampden?" "Certainly not," said I, with some irritation at Mr. Baldwin’s scornful airs. "The anti-Chinese cry may have been taken up by those who had rather talk than work, but there is plenty of foundation for the statement that the Chinese are driving white men out of employment." "I have found nothing of the sort in my experience," said Mr. Baldwin contemptuously. "Well, your experience is not that of men in business," I returned warmly. "You will find that class for class the Chinaman can run the white man out of any line he enters. The Chinese laborer can work and live on less wages than the white laborer; the Chinese merchant can grow wealthy in a market that would throw the white merchant into bankruptcy, and the Chinese manufacturer thrives under conditions that drive his white competitor to the wall." "What do you mean by talking that way, Hampden?" cried Mr. Baldwin with irritation. "You know well enough that you’re not serious. It’s impossible." A sharp answer was on the tip of my tongue when Miss Kendrick interposed. "That will do for a very stupid debate," she said. "You can put the rest of it in the papers. I think I hear the doctor, and I want Mr. Hampden to come and see him." And with a peremptory wave of her hand she rose, and I followed her out into the hall. As the door closed she dropped her commanding manner. "Do you know it is ten o’clock?" she said, "and uncle hasn’t come in yet." Her tone was troubled. "Is it anything unusual?" I asked. "I suppose you think it’s a case of nerves," she said, "and maybe it is. But I shouldn’t worry if he hadn’t sent word to me that he would be here by nine. I’m afraid something has happened, and I want you to see about it." "Have you any idea where he went?" "He spoke of going to Mr. Coleman’s." "William T. Coleman’s?" "Yes." "Well, that will be a good place to start a search, then." And I secured my hat. "It’s good of you to go," said Miss Kendrick. "Am I forgiven?" I asked, taking the small hand that lay so temptingly near my own, and bending over it. "There, that will do," she said, snatching her hand away and retreating in some confusion. "Your pardon for being an obstinate man-creature is signed, and you’d better not imperil it by any Louis Quatorze manners. And I’m sure you’d better not waste any more time."