irit among them was merged into the mob
mind of the speaker. And every man within the sound of his voice was a
murderer.

The final leap of the speaker's soul into an expression of supreme hate
for the Southern white man found its instant echo in the mob which
he had created. They demanded no facts. They asked no reasons. They
accepted his statements as the oracle of God. They were opinions,
beliefs, dogmas, the cries of propaganda only--precisely the food needed
for developing the mob mind to its full strength. Envy, jealousy, hatred
ruled supreme. Liberty was a catchword. Blood lust was the motive power
driving each heart beat.

Brown suddenly stopped. His speech had reached no climax. It had rambled
into repetition. Its power consisted in the repetition of a fixed
thought. He knew the power of this repeated hammering on the mind. An
idea can be repeated until it is believed, true or false. He had pounded
his message into his hearers until they were incapable of resistance. It
was unnecessary for him to continue. He stopped so suddenly, they waited
in silence for him to go on after he had taken his seat.

A faint applause again swept the front of the house. There was something
uncanny about the man that hushed applause. They knew that he was
indifferent to it. Hidden fires burned within him that lighted the way
of life. He needed no torches held on high. He asked no honors.
He expected no applause and he got little. What he did demand was
submission to his will and obedience as followers.

Gerrit Smith rose with this thought gripping his gentle spirit. His
words came automatically as if driven by another's mind.

"Our friend and leader has dedicated his life to the service of
suffering humanity. It is our duty to follow. The first step is to
sacrifice our money in his cause."

The ushers passed the baskets and Sam's heart warmed as he heard the
coin rattle. His eyes bulged when he saw that one of them had a pile of
bills in it that covered the coin. He heard the great and good man say
that it was for the poor brother in black. He saw visions of a warm
room, of clean food and plenty of it.

He was glad he'd come, although he didn't like the look in John Brown's
eyes while he spoke. Their fierce light seemed to bore through him and
hurt. Now that he was seated and his eyes half closed, uplifted toward
the ceiling, he wasn't so formidable. He rather liked him sitting down.

The ushers poured the money on the tab