Samuel went home and faced a surprising experience. There was a dapper and well-dressed young man waiting to see him. “My name is Pollard,” he said, “and I'm from the Lockmanville 'Express.' I want to get a story from you.”

“A story from me?” echoed the boy in perplexity.

“An interview,” explained the other. “I want to find out about that meeting you're going to hold.”

And so Samuel experienced the great thrill, which comes sooner or later to every social reformer. He sat in Mrs. Stedman's little parlor, and told his tale yet again. Mr. Pollard was young and just out of college, and his pencil fairly flew over his notebook. “Gosh!” he exclaimed. “But this is hot stuff!”

To Samuel it was an extraordinary revelation. He was surprised that the idea had not occurred to him before. What was the use of holding meetings and making speeches, when one could have things printed in the papers? In the papers everyone would read it; and they would get it straight—there would be no chance of error. Moreover, they would read it at their leisure, and have time to think it all over!

And after Mr. Pollard had gone, he rushed off in great excitement to tell Everley about it. “You won't need to print those circulars,” he said. “For I told him where the meeting was to be.”

But Everley only smiled at this. “We'll get out our stuff just the same,” he said. “You'd better wait until you've seen what the 'Express' prints.”

“What do you mean?” asked the boy. But Everley would not explain—he merely told Samuel to wait. He did not seem to be as much excited as he should have been.

Samuel went home again. And later on in the afternoon, while Mrs. Stedman had gone out to the grocer's, there came a knock on the door, and he opened it, and to his amazement found himself confronted by Billy Finnegan.

“Hello, young fellow!” said Finnegan.

“Hello!” said Samuel.

“What's this I hear about your making a speech?” asked Finnegan.

“I'm going to,” was the reply. “But how did you know?”

“I got it from Callahan. Slattery told him.”

“Slattery! Has he heard about it?”

“Gee, young fellow! What do you think he's boss for?”

And Finnegan gazed around the room, to make sure that they were alone.

“Sammy,” he said, “I've come to give you a friendly tip; I hope you'll have sense enough to take it.”

“What is it?” asked the other.

“Don't try to make any speech.”

“Why not?”

“Because you ain't a-going to be let to make it, Sammy.”

“But how can they stop me?”

“I dunno, Sammy. But they ain't a-going to let you.”

There was a pause.

“It's a crazy thing you're tryin' to do,” said the other. “And take my word for it—somethin' will happen to you if you go on.”

“What will happen?”

“I dunno, my boy—maybe you'll fall into the river.”

“Fall into the river!”

“Yes; or else run your head into a slungshot some night, in a dark alley. I can't tell you what—only you won't make the speech.”

Samuel was dumfounded. “You can't mean such things!” he gasped.

“Sure I mean them,” was the reply. “Why not?”

Samuel did not respond. “I don't know why you're tryin' to do this thing,” went on the other, “nor who's backing you. But from what I can make out, you've got the goods, and you've got them on most everybody in the town. You've got Slattery, and you've got Pat McCullagh, and you've got the machine. You've got Wygant and Hickman—you've even got something on Bertie Lockman, haven't you?”

“I suppose I have,” said Samuel. “But I'm not going to tell that.”

“Well, they don't know what you're going to tell, and they won't take any chances. They won't let you tell anything.”

“But can such things be done?” panted the boy.

“They're done all the time,” said the other. “Why, see—it stands to reason. Wouldn't folks be finding out things like this, and wouldn't they be tellin' them?”

“To be sure,” said Samuel. “That's what puzzled me.”

“Well,” said the bartender, “they ain't let to. Don't you see?”

“I see,” whispered the boy.

“There's a crowd that runs this town, Sammy; and they mean to go on runnin' it. And don't you think they can't find ways of shuttin' up a kid like you!”

“But Mr. Finnegan, it would be murder!”

“Well, they wouldn't have to do it themselves, would they? When Henry Hickman wants a chicken for dinner, he don't have to wring its neck with his own hands.”

Samuel could find nothing to reply to that. He sat dumb with horror.

“You see,” continued Finnegan after a bit, “I know about this game, and I'm givin' you a friendly word. What the hell does a kid like you want to be reformin' things for anyway?”

“What else can I do?” asked Samuel.

To which the other answered, “Do? Get yourself a decent job, and find some girl you like and settle down. You'll never know what there is in life, Sammy, till you've got a baby.”

But Samuel only shook his head. The plan did not appeal to him. “I'll try to keep out of trouble,” he said, “but I MUST make that speech!”

So Finnegan went out, shaking his head and grumbling to himself. And Samuel hurried off to see his lawyer friend again. The result of the visit was that Everley exacted from him a solemn promise that he would not go out of the house after dark.

“I know what was done in this town during the strike,” said the other, “and I don't want to take any chances. Now that they have finished the unions, there's nobody left but us.”

So Samuel stayed at home, and told Sophie and her mother all about his various experiences, and about the people he had met. The child was almost beside herself with delight.

“Oh, I knew that help would come!” she kept saying, “I knew that help would come!”

Worn out as he was, the young reformer could hardly sleep that night, for all the excitement. And early in the morning he was up and out hunting for a copy of the “Express.”

He stood on the street-corner and opened it. He glanced at the first page—there was nothing there. He glanced at the back page, and then at one page after another, seeking for the one that was given up to the story. But there was no such page. And then he went back and read over the headings of each column—and still he did not find it. And then he began a third time, reading carefully each tiny item. And so, after nearly an hour's search, when he found himself lost in a maze of advertisements, he brought himself to realize that there was not a line of the story in the paper!

When Everley arrived at his office that morning, Samuel was waiting for him on the steps. Seeing the paper in the other's hand, the young lawyer laughed. “You found out, have you?” he said.

“It's not here!” cried Samuel.

“I knew just what would happen,” said the other. “But I thought I'd let you see for yourself.”

“But what does it mean?” demanded the boy.

“It means,” was the answer, “that the Lockman estate has a mortgage of one hundred thousand dollars on the Express.”

And Samuel's jaw fell, and he stood staring at his friend.

“Now you see what it is to be a Socialist!” laughed Everley.

And Samuel saw.