prospect of an advantageous marriage for her, she remembered her
sister in the asylum, she remembered how Andrew was out of work, and
she could not understand how it was to be managed. And all this was
aside from the grief which she would have felt in any case at losing
Ellen.

As for Andrew, the next morning he put on his best clothes and went
by trolley-cars to the next manufacturing town, not a city like
Rowe, but a busy little place with two large factories, and tried in
vain to get a job there. As he came home on the crowded car, his
face was so despairing that the people looked curiously at him.
Andrew had always been mild and peaceable, but at that moment
anarchistic principles began to ferment in him. When a portly man,
swelling ostentatiously with broadcloth and fine linen, wearing a
silk hat, and carrying a gold-headed cane like a wand of office, got
into the car, Andrew looked at him with a sidelong glance which was
almost murderous. The spiritual bomb, which is in all our souls for
our fellow-men, began to swell towards explosion. This man was the
proprietor of one of the great factories in Leavitt, the town where
Andrew had vainly sought a job. He had been in the office when
Andrew entered, and the latter had heard his low voice of
instruction to the foreman that the man was too old. The
manufacturer, who weighed heavily, and described a vast curve of
opulence from silk hat to his patent-leathers, sat opposite, his
gold-headed cane planted in the aisle, his countenance a blank of
complacent power. Andrew felt that he hated him.

The man's face was not intellectual, not as intellectual as
Andrew's. He gave the impression of the force of matter oncoming and
irresistible, some inertia which had started Heaven knew how. This
man had inherited great wealth, as Andrew knew. He had capital with
which to begin, and he had strength to roll the accumulating ball.
Andrew felt more and more how he hated this man. He had told his
foreman that Andrew was too old, and Andrew knew that he was no
older, if as old, as the man himself.

"If I had been born under the Czar, and done with it, I should have
felt differently," he told himself. "But who is this man? What right
has he to say that his fellow-men shall or shall not? Does even his
own property give him the right of dictation over others? What is
property? Is it anything but a temporary lease while he draws the
breath of life? What of it in the tomb, to which he s