A large, watery-eyed man, with florid cheeks, clad in a long overcoat with spots down the front, came in at the door and passed through the room bowing and smiling to the men. Taking Ed by the arm he disappeared into a little barroom, where Sam could hear him talking in low tones. After a little while the florid-faced man came and put his head through the barroom door into the office. “Come on, boys,” he said, smiling and nodding right and left, “the drinks are on me.” The men got up and filed into the bar, the old man and Sam remaining seated in their chairs. They began talking in undertones. “I’ll start ‘em thinking--these men,” said the old man. From his pocket he took a pamphlet and gave it to Sam. It was a crudely written attack upon rich men and corporations. “Some brains in the fellow who wrote that,” said the old carpenter, rubbing his hands together and smiling. Sam did not think so. He sat reading it and listening to the loud, boisterous voices of the men in the barroom. The florid-faced man was explaining the details of a proposed town bond issue. Sam gathered that the water power in the river was to be developed. “We want to make this a live town,” said the voice of Ed, earnestly. The old man, leaning over and putting his hand beside his mouth, began whispering to Sam. “I’ll bet there is a capitalist deal back of that power scheme,” he said. He nodded his head up and down and smiled knowingly. “If there is Ed will be in on it,” he added. “You can’t lose Ed. He’s a slick one.” He took the pamphlet from Sam’s hand and put it in his pocket. “I’m a socialist,” he explained, “but don’t say anything. Ed’s against ‘em.” The men filed back into the room, each with a freshly-lighted cigar in his mouth, and the florid-faced man followed them and went out at the office door. “Well, so long, boys,” he shouted heartily. Ed went silently up the stairs to join the mother and boy, whose voices could still be heard raised in outbursts of wrath from above as the men took their former chairs along the wall. “Well, Bill’s sure all right,” said the red-haired young man, evidently expressing the opinion of the men in regard to the florid-faced man. A small bent old man with sunken cheeks got up and walking across the room leaned against the cigar case. “Did you ever hear this one?” he asked, looking about. Obviously no answer could be given and the bent old man launched into a vile pointless anecdote of a woman, a miner, and a mule, the crowd giving close attention and laughing uproariously when he had finished. The socialist rubbed his hands together and joined in the applause. “That was a good one, eh?” he commented, turning to Sam.