Barbarossa's house was a combination of residence, school and club. On a brass plate beside the door was the legend: "Sturani School of Social Science." A youth, much the same as the one who had sold him books, let Jack in, and after favoring him with a hard stare, led him to a small room at the back and told him to wait. The house seemed to be full of Barbarossa's disciples. Jack had glimpses of groups in the unfurnished parlors, arguing with fury. Jack had learned that Barbarossa's position among anarchists corresponded in a way with the description of himself which the mysterious Mr. B. had furnished Anderson, and he naturally inferred that Barbarossa might be another alias of Mr. B.'s. His heart beat fast with excitement as he waited for him, thinking that he was perhaps about to come face to face with his real adversary. But when the redoubtable Barbarossa plunged into the room, Jack was speedily disillusioned of his hopes. Plunged is the only word to use: the anarchist's movements were like those of a frolicking mastiff--only Barbarossa always affected an air of weighty import. He was enormously fat, and it was genuine fat, as Jack could tell by the shake and sag of him as he flung himself into a chair. By no stretch could he have transformed himself into the neat, decent little gentleman so often described to Jack. This was not Mr. B. Moreover, Barbarossa had a mass of red hair standing on end around his head like a halo, and a spreading red beard. These were indubitably real, too, and had obviously taken years to produce. "You're Cassels," grunted Barbarossa. "Yes, sir." "Humph! English!" "English descent, sir." "We don't get many English boys interested in ideas." Jack privately hoped this would not count against him. He had considered assuming a foreign character, but had given it up as being too difficult to maintain. "What do you want of me?" demanded Barbarossa. "I want to learn," said Jack. "I want to meet men with ideas. I want to take part in the movement." "Have you any money?" Jack was somewhat taken aback. "A little. I'm only a working-boy." "If you can pay, you can come to my school. It's fifteen dollars payable in advance. Afternoon or evening classes. You can come as often as you want." "I'll come," said Jack. "I'll bring the money to-morrow. Is there some work I could do, too? For the Cause. Can I belong to a circle?" "Circle?" said Barbarossa with a sharp glance of his little blue eyes--they were at once irascible and short-sighted, eyes of a fanatic. "What kind of a circle?" "Liberators." "I don't know what you're talking about. If there is any such thing, I suppose you'll be invited to belong when you've proved yourself worthy. Come to my school and I'll put some ideas into your head if it's not too English." "Thank you, sir," said Jack rising. This was as far as he supposed he could get on the first meeting. "By the way, who told you about me?" demanded Barbarossa.