Kenyon took a step nearer the foot-lights. Either he misunderstood or else he wished to provoke an argument, for he said, with slippery civility: “I shall be very pleased to listen to Mr. Oakley's side of the question. This is a free country, and I don't deny him or any man the right to express his views. The fact that I am unalterably opposed to the power he represents is no bar to the expression here of his opinion.” Oakley's face was crimson. He paused irresolutely; he saw the jeer on Ryder's lips, and the desire possessed him to tell these people what fools they were to listen to the cheap, lungy patriotism of the demagogue on the stage. He rested a hand on the back of the chair in front of him, and leaned forward with an arm extended at the speaker, but his eyes were fixed on Miss Emory's face. She was smiling at him encouragingly, he thought, bidding him to speak. “This is doubtless your opportunity,” he said, “but I would like to ask what earthly interest you have in Antioch beyond the votes it may give you?” Kenyon smiled blandly and turned for one fleeting instant to wink at Ryder. “And my reply is this: What about the twenty-million-dollar specimen of American manhood who is dodging around London on the money he's made here in this State--yes, and in this town? He's gone to England to break his way into London society, and, incidentally, to marry his daughter to a title.” A roar of laughter greeted this sally. “That may be,” retorted Oakley, hotly, “but Antioch has been getting its share of his money, too. Don't forget that. There's not a store-keeper in this audience whose bank account will not show, in hard American dollars, what General Cornish does for Antioch when Antioch is willing to let him do for it. But, granted that what you have said is true, who can best afford to meet the present situation? General Cornish or these men? On whom does the hardship fall heavier, on them or on him?” “That was not the spirit which prevailed at Bunker Hill and Lexington! No, thank God! our fathers did not stop to count the cost, and we have our battles to-day just as vital to the cause of humanity; and I, for one, would rather see the strong arm of labor wither in its socket than submit to wrong or injustice!” Oakley choked down his disgust and moved towards the door. There was applause and one or two cat-calls. Not heeding them, he made his way from the building. He had reached the street when a detaining hand was placed upon his arm. He turned savagely, but it proved to be only Turner Joyce, who stepped to his side, with a cheerful: “Good-evening, Mr. Oakley. They seem to be having a very gay time in there, don't they?” “Have you been in?” demanded Oakley, grimly. “I? Oh, no! I have just been taking a picture home.” “Well,” said Oakley, “I have just been making a damned fool of myself. I hope that is something you are never guilty of, Mr. Joyce?” Joyce laughed, and tucked his hand through his companion's arm.