Abner accepted in awkward silence Mrs. Pence's liberal and fluent praise of _The Rod of the Oppressor_,--aside from his deep-seated indignation he had not yet mastered any of those serviceable phrases by means of which such a volley may be returned; but he found words when she presently set foot in the roomy field of the betterment of local conditions. What she had in mind, it appeared, was a training-school--it might be called the Pence Institute if it went through--and she was ready to listen to any one who was likely to encourage her with hints or advice. "So much energy, so much talent going to waste, so many young people tumbling up anyhow and presently tumbling over--all for lack of thorough and systematic training," she said, across her own broad bosom. "I know of but one training that is needed," said Abner massively: "the training of the sense of social justice--such training of the public conscience as will insist upon seeing that each and every freeman gets an even chance." "An even chance?" repeated Eudoxia, rather dashed. "What I think of offering is an even start. Doesn't it come to much the same thing?" But Abner would none of it. Possessed of the fatalistic belief in the efficacy of mere legislation such as dominates the rural townships of the West, he grasped his companion firmly by the arm, set his sturdy legs in rapid motion, walked her from assembly hall to assembly hall through this State, that and the other, and finally fetched up with her under the dome of the national Capitol. Senators and representatives co-operated here, there and everywhere, the chosen spokesmen of the sovereign people; Abner seemed almost to have enrolled himself among them. Confronted with this august company, whose work it was to set things right, Eudoxia Pence felt smaller than ever. What were her imponderable emanations of goodwill and good intention when compared with the robust masculinity that was marching in firm phalanxes over solid ground toward the mastery of the great Problem? She drooped visibly. Little O'Grady, studying her pose and expression from afar, wrung his hands. "That fellow will drive her away. Ten to one we shall never see her profile here again!" Yes, Eudoxia was feeling, with a sudden faintness, that the Better Things might after all be beyond her reach. She looked about for herself without finding herself: she had dwindled away to nothingness. VI "Do you take her money--_such_ money?" Abner asked of Giles with severity. Eudoxia had returned to Medora and the samovar. "_Such_ money?" returned Giles. "Is it different from other money? What do you mean?" "Isn't her husband the head of some trust or other?" "Why, yes, I believe so: the Feather-bed Trust, or the Air-and-Sunlight Trust--something of that sort; I've never looked into it closely." "Yet you accept what it offers you."