al of the bourgeois swine that read the newspapers?"

Martin thought for a while, then said:-

"No, I really don't care for their approval, not a whit. On the other
hand, it's very likely to make my relations with Ruth's family a trifle
awkward. Her father always contended I was a socialist, and this
miserable stuff will clinch his belief. Not that I care for his
opinion--but what's the odds? I want to read you what I've been doing to-
day. It's 'Overdue,' of course, and I'm just about halfway through."

He was reading aloud when Maria thrust open the door and ushered in a
young man in a natty suit who glanced briskly about him, noting the oil-
burner and the kitchen in the corner before his gaze wandered on to
Martin.

"Sit down," Brissenden said.

Martin made room for the young man on the bed and waited for him to
broach his business.

"I heard you speak last night, Mr. Eden, and I've come to interview you,"
he began.

Brissenden burst out in a hearty laugh.

"A brother socialist?" the reporter asked, with a quick glance at
Brissenden that appraised the color-value of that cadaverous and dying
man.

"And he wrote that report," Martin said softly. "Why, he is only a boy!"

"Why don't you poke him?" Brissenden asked. "I'd give a thousand dollars
to have my lungs back for five minutes."

The cub reporter was a trifle perplexed by this talking over him and
around him and at him. But he had been commended for his brilliant
description of the socialist meeting and had further been detailed to get
a personal interview with Martin Eden, the leader of the organized menace
to society.

"You do not object to having your picture taken, Mr. Eden?" he said.
"I've a staff photographer outside, you see, and he says it will be
better to take you right away before the sun gets lower. Then we can
have the interview afterward."

"A photographer," Brissenden said meditatively. "Poke him, Martin! Poke
him!"

"I guess I'm getting old," was the answer. "I know I ought, but I really
haven't the heart. It doesn't seem to matter."

"For his mother's sake," Brissenden urged.

"It's worth considering," Martin replied; "but it doesn't seem worth
while enough to rouse sufficient energy in me. You see, it does take
energy to give a fellow a poking. Besides, what does it matter?"

"That's right--that's the way to take it," the cub announced airily,
though he had already begun to glance anxiously at the door.

"B