"I'll take the risk of having it set up," added the lawyer. "And I'll
get the notices to the members of the local off in this evening's
mail. Come, we'll go to see one or two of them now and talk it over
with them."
So they went down, and while Johann hurried back to his work, Samuel
and Everley stopped in a cigar store a couple of doors down the
street, kept by a little Russian Jew with a merry face and dancing
black eyes. "Comrade Lippman," said Everley, "this is Mr. Prescott."
There came also "Comrade Minsky," from the rear workroom, a cigar
maker, bare-armed and very yellow and emaciated. To them Everley told
briefly the story of Samuel's adventures and what he proposed to do.
The glow of excitement with which they received the tidings left no
doubt as to their attitude. And a couple of blocks around the corner
was a little shop where a grizzled old carpenter, "Comrade Beggs,"
clutched Samuel's hand in a grip like one of his vises, while he
expressed his approval of his course. And then they called on Dr.
Barton, a young physician, whom Everley declared to be one of the
mainstays of the local of the town. "He got his education abroad," he
explained, "so he has none of the narrowness of our physicians. His
wife's quite a speaker, too."
Mrs. Barton was a sweet-faced and mild-looking lady, who reminded
Samuel of the picture of his mother. All the while that Everley was
telling his story the boy was staring at her, and trying to straighten
out the tangle of perplexity that was caused in his mind by the idea
of her being a Socialist speaker!
By and by the doctor came in, and the story had to be told yet again.
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