_It was [Lyons wrote] a motley and colorful and rather high-pitched company that gathered around the defense at this stage. Some were moved by an undiluted urge to save the two innocent men, others were interested primarily in the propagandist value of the case, still others got an emotional kick out of the battle. At one extreme were hot-headed and desperate Italians distrustful of all law, bitterly sarcastic about the hocus-pocus of motions and affidavits, and often refusing in principle to cooperate with their own lawyers. At the other extreme were men and women of old New England stock chiefly concerned with saving the Commonwealth of Massachusetts from the stigma of an ugly miscarriage of justice. I can recall vital meetings in which a snarling, red-headed Italian exponent of direct action argued some question of policy with a benign pacifist like Mrs. Evans. It was Moore’s delicate job to reconcile these people and placate their idiosyncrasies._ The money that Moore needed in floods came in dribbles—$18.30 from an Italian picnic in Connecticut, an anonymous dollar bill posted in Seattle, $38.65 from the Pietro Gori Group of Nokomis, Illinois, the occasional windfall of five hundred dollars collected by the Workers’ Defense Union at a New York meeting in Beethoven Hall, a small but steady flow from Moore’s friends in the United Mine Workers. Moore knew that what was required was a full-time treasurer to coordinate finances and fund-raising. He wanted Felicani to quit _La Notizia_ and devote all his time to the job at a regular salary. Felicani would not hear of it. He was willing to work until midnight each night on the committee accounts, or on propaganda, or whatever else needed doing, but those pathetically small sums that kept dribbling in for the defense of his friends—he could not bear to pay himself from that money. He insisted on keeping a record of every amount received, no matter how small, and of every cent paid out. Moore did not see the point of such finical accounting. To him it was foolish to waste time on columns of figures when two men’s lives were at stake. He and Felicani were always at odds about money. To Felicani it seemed that no matter how much he provided, Moore always needed more. It was as if the lawyer had a hole in his hand. For Moore it was both ridiculous and humiliating that he, the general counsel of the I.W.W., whose name struck sparks from coast to coast, who had taken this case out of the gutter and made it a world issue, should have to appear hat in hand before a printer-nobody to beg for money—and often not get it! Time and again Moore saw what he considered promising investigations shut off by the anarchists. Later he was to ask himself if some deeper motive than a financial one lay behind their refusals. On October 20, 1922, the doctrinaire Frank Lopez, who had become secretary of the Defense Committee, wrote Moore: