of these great fortunes America has bred is monstrous,"
he suddenly cried. "And always they work for evil. If I were ever to
write a melodrama, Margaret, I could wish for no more thorough-paced
villain than a large fortune." Kennaston paused and laughed grimly.
"We cringe to the Eagle!" said he. "Eh, well, why not? The Eagle is
very powerful and very cruel. In the South yonder, the Eagle has
penned over a million children in his factories, where day by day he
drains the youth and health and very life out of their tired bodies;
in sweat-shops, men and women are toiling for the Eagle, giving their
lives for the pittance that he grudges them; in countless mines and
mills, the Eagle is trading human lives for coal and flour; in
Wall Street yonder, the Eagle is juggling as he will with life's
necessities--thieving from the farmer, thieving from the consumer,
thieving from the poor fools who try to play the Eagle's game, and
driving them at will to despair and ruin and death: look whither you
may, men die that the Eagle may grow fat. So the Eagle thrives, and
daily the rich grow richer and the poor grow poorer, and the end----"
Kennaston paused, staring into vacancy. "Eh, well," said he, with a
smile and a snap of his fingers, "the end rests upon the knees of
the gods. But there must need be an end some day. And meanwhile, you
cannot blame us if we cringe to the Eagle that is master of the world.
It is human nature to cringe to its master; and while human nature
is not always an admirable thing, it is, I believe, rather widely
distributed."

Margaret did not return the smile. Like any sensible woman, she never
tolerated opinions that differed from her own.

So she waved his preachment aside. "You're trying to be eloquent," was
her observation, "and you've only succeeded in being very silly and
tiresome. Go away, beautiful. You make me awfully tired, and I don't
care for you in the least. Go and talk to Kathleen. I shall be
here--on this very spot," Margaret added, with commendable precision
and an unaccountable increase of colour, "if--if any one should happen
to ask."

Then Kennaston rose and laughed merrily.

"You are quite delicious," he commented. "It will always be a
grief and a puzzle to me that I am not mad for love of you. It is
unreasonable of me," he complained, sadly, and shook his head, "but I
prefer Kathleen. And I am quite certain that somebody will ask where
you are. I shall describe to him the exact spot