“Am I to be called a tramp by me own daughter in me own house,” he cried, “when I tell this ruffian his true character? Yes, an’ every other ruffian that’s the curse o’ the workin’-class movement with their talk of violence an’ murder an’ revolution. All me life I have stood straight for the cause of me fellow-workers. I was one o’ the first men to stand up for Connolly an’ the cause o’ Socialism, but I always said that the greatest enemies o’ the workin’ class were those o’ their own kind that advocated violence. I . . .” “I told you to shut up,” said Mary in a calm, low voice, as she walked over to the bed, with her hands still on her hips. “It’s just like you,” she almost hissed, putting her doubled fists into the little pockets of her jacket. “It’s just like you to go back on your own son.” She did not know why she was saying this, but she felt some force driving her on in opposition to her father, in defence of her dead brother. Perhaps it was the audience she had behind her. Because, strangely enough, she herself hated Frankie for belonging to the Revolutionary Organization, since she got a position two years before as clerk in the offices of Gogarty and Hogan. Before that she had been a revolutionary herself, but not a member of any organization. She used to attend meetings and cheer and get into arguments with irritated old gentlemen, etc. But during the past two years her outlook on life had undergone a subtle change, gradual but definite. At first she began to get “disillusioned,” as she used to tell Francis, with the blasé air of a young girl of nineteen. Then she used to lecture him on the desirability of keeping better company. This was at the time when she made the acquaintance of Joseph Augustine Short, a young gentleman who was serving his apprenticeship with Gogarty and Hogan and wore plus fours and left Harcourt Street Station every Sunday morning, to play golf down the country somewhere. Finally, she became opposed violently “to the whole theory of revolution,” as being degenerating and “subversive of all moral ideas.” She became religious and got the idea into her head that she could convert Commandant Dan Gallagher, the leader of the revolutionary movement. All this later development had been quite recent, however, and had not matured fully in her character. It was yet merely plastic. It had not become a fixed habit of thought, surrounded by deep and bitter prejudices, that form themselves into “firm convictions.”