c muttered. "I am
not here to receive visitors--not your sort, any way. You understand
that?"

"You seem to be prepared to receive some one in a most unpleasant
manner," Arnold said gravely. "Is that sort of thing worth while,
Isaac?"

"Worth while!"

There was a brief pause. Arnold, having asked his question, was
looking at his companion, half in horror, half in pity. Isaac, white
with passion, seemed unable for the moment to make any intelligible
reply. Then, drawing in his breath as though with an effort, he
walked past Arnold and stood for a moment on the threshold of the
door, listening intently. Satisfied, apparently, that there was
nothing to be heard save the usual street noises, he closed the door
softly and came back into the room.

"You," he said to Arnold, "are one of the clods of the earth, to
whom it is not given to understand. You are one of those who would
fall before the carriages of the rich and hold out your hands for
their alms. You are one of those who could weep and weep and watch
the children die, wringing your hands, while the greedy ones of the
world stuff themselves at their costly restaurants. The world is
full of such as you. It is full, too, of many like myself, in whose
blood the fever burns, into whose brain the knowledge of things has
entered, in whose heart the seared iron burns."

"That's all right for Hyde Park," Arnold declared, bluntly, "but do
you imagine you are going to help straighten the world by this sort
of thing?"

"In my way, I am," Isaac snarled. "What do you know of it, you
smooth-faced, healthy young animal, comfortably born, comfortably
bred, falling always on your feet in comfortable fashion, with the
poison of comfort in your veins? You look at my pistol as an evil
thing, because it can spell the difference between life and death. I
will tell you what it represents to me. It represents my rebellion
and the rebellion of my class against what you choose to call here
law and order. Law and order are good enough things, but they have
become the tools with which the smug rich keep themselves in luxury
in the fat places of the world, while millions of others, gripping
vainly at the outside of life, fall off into the bottomless chasm."

"It's the wrong method, Isaac," Arnold insisted, earnestly.

Isaac threw out his hand--a little gesture, half of contempt, not
altogether without its touch of dignity.

"This isn't any place for words," he said, "nor is it given t