, with the sweeping
confidence of youth. "These intervals of discontent are periodical--like
epidemics of diseases."

Adrian glanced at the treatise on Political Economy in his son's hand.
"And what would you suggest, my boy?" he asked with a faint smile.

"Leave them alone," said Francisco. "It goes through a regular form.
They have agitators who talk of Bloodsucking Plutocrats, Rights of the
People and all that. But it generally ends in mere words."

"The Paris Commune didn't end in mere words," reminded Adrian.

"Oh, that!" Francisco was a trifle nonplussed. "Well, of course--"

"There have been serious riots in Eastern States."

"But--they had leaders. Here we've none."

"I'm not so sure of that," said Adrian thoughtfully. "D'ye know that
Irish drayman, Dennis Kearney?"

"Y-e-s ... the one who used to be a sailor?"

"That's the man. He's clever; knows men like a book.... Has power and a
knack for words. He calls our Legislature 'The Honorable Bilks.' Wants
to start a Workingmen's Party. And he'll do it, too, or I'm mistaken.
His motto is 'The Chinese Must Go!'"

"By Harry! There's a story for the paper," said Francisco. "I must see
the fellow."

Robert Windham and Po Lun were out for a morning promenade. They often
walked together of a Sunday. Robert, though he was now twenty-six, still
retained his childhood friendship for the Chinese servitor; found him an
agreeable, often-times a sage companion. Urged by Alice, whose ambitious
love included all within her ken, Po Lun attended night school; he could
read and write English passably, though the letter "r" still foiled his
Oriental tongue. Today they were out to have a look at the new
city hall.

On a sand lot opposite several hundred men had gathered, pressing round
a figure mounted on a barrel. The orator gesticulated violently. Now and
then there were cheers. A brandishing of fists and canes. Po Lun halted
in sudden alarm. "Plitty soon they get excited. They don't like Chinese.
I think maybe best we go back."

But already Po's "pig-tail" had attracted attention. The speaker pointed
to him.

"There's one of them Heathen Chinese," he cried shrilly. "The dirty
yaller boys what's takin' bread out of our mouths. Down with them, I
say. Make this a white man's country."

An ominous growl came from the crowd. Several rough-looking fellows
started toward Robert and Po Lun. The latter was for taking to his
heels, but Robert stood his ground.

"What do y