eligion? No. For money--money--money.
When the flag waves in a new country, blood begins to flow, the blood of
the industrial slave. Down with the flag. Our symbol is the sword."

The voice of the interpreter, in an added passion, throbbed upon the
climbing period. Moore had moved him and, forgetful of himself, he was
dramatically ready to pass his ardour on. Jeff also forgot himself. He
clove like a wedge through the thin line before him, and leaped on the
running-board.

"You fool," he heard himself yelling at Moore, who in the insecurity of
his tubbiness was jarred and almost overturned, "you're robbing them of
their country. You're taking away the thing that keeps them from
falling down on all-fours and going back to brute beasts. My God, Moore,
you're a traitor! You ought to be shot."

He had surprised them. They did not even hustle him, but there were
interrogatory syllables directed to the interpreter. Moore recovered
himself. He gave a sharp sound of distaste, and then, assuming his
civilised habit, said to Jeff in a voice of specious courtesy, yet, Jeff
knew, a voice of hate:

"These are mill operatives, Blake, labourers. They know what labour is.
They know what capitalists are. Do you want me to tell 'em who you are?"

Who you are? Jeff knew what it meant. Did he want Moore to tell them
that he was a capitalist found out and punished?

"Tell and be damned," he said. "See here!" He was addressing the
interpreter. "You understand English. Fair play. Do you take me? Fair
play is what English men and American men work for and fight for. It's
fair play to give me a chance to speak, and for you to tell these poor
devils what I say. Will you?"

The man nodded. His white teeth gleamed in the moonlight. Jeff fancied
his eyes gleamed, too. He was a swarthy creature and round his neck was
knotted a handkerchief, vivid red. Jeff, with a movement of the arm,
crowded Moore aside. Moore submitted. Used, as he was, to being swept
out of the way, all the energies that might have been remonstrant in him
had combined in a controlling calm to serve him until the day when he
should be no longer ousted. Jeff spoke, and threw his voice, he hoped,
to the outskirts of the crowd, ingenuously forgetting it was not lungs
he wanted but a bare knowledge of foreign tongues.

"This man," said he, "tells you you've no country. Don't you let him
lie to you. Here's your country under your feet. If you can't love it
enough to die for it