I said to him, 'you are English, are
you not?' 'Yes, sir,' he answered. 'And I understand you
mean to help along the loan to England with all the power
of your bank.' 'Yes,' he said, 'I mean it and I'll do
it.' 'Then I'll tell you what,' I said, 'you lend one
penny, or help to lend one penny, to the people of England
or the people of France, and I'll break you, I'll grind
you into poverty--you and your wife and children and all
that belongs to you.'"

The Philanthropist had spoken with so great an intensity
that there was a deep stillness over the assembled company.
The Negro President had straightened up in his seat, and
as he looked at the speaker there was something in his
erect back and his stern face and the set of his faded
uniform that somehow turned him, African though he was,
into a soldier.

"Sir," he said, with his eye riveted on the speaker's
face, "what happened to that banker man?"

"The fool!" said The Philanthropist. "He wouldn't hear
--he defied me--he said that there wasn't money enough
in all my business to buy the soul of a single Englishman.
I had his directors turn him from his bank that day, and
he's enlisted, the scoundrel, and is gone to the war.
But his wife and family are left behind; they shall learn
what the grip of the money power is--learn it in misery
and poverty."

"My good sir," said the Negro President slowly and
impressively, "do you know why your plan of stopping war
wouldn't work in Haiti?"

"No," said The Philanthropist.

"Because our black people there would kill you. Whichever
side they were on, whatever they thought of the war, they
would take a man like you and lead you out into the town
square, and stand you up against the side of an adobe
house, and they'd shoot you. Come down to Haiti, if you
doubt my words, and try it."

"Thank you," said The Philanthropist, resuming his
customary manner of undisturbed gentleness, "I don't
think I will. I don't think somehow that I could do
business in Haiti."

The passage at arms between the Negro President and The
Philanthropist had thrown a certain confusion into the
hitherto agreeable gathering. Even The Eminent Divine
was seen to be slowly shaking his head from side to side,
an extreme mark of excitement which he never permitted
himself except under stress of passion. The two humble
guests at the foot of the table were visibly perturbed.
"Say, I don't like that about the banker," squeaked one
of them. "That ain't rig