There was a pause, while Samuel was getting the meaning
of this into his mind. “But,” he
exclaimed in amazement, “that is exactly what
I believe!”
“Of course,” replied the other, “it
is exactly what everyone with sense believes.”
“But—but—” gasped
the boy, “then am I a Socialist?”
“Nine tenths of the people in the country are
Socialists,” replied Everley—“only
they haven’t found it out yet.”
“But,” cried Samuel, “you ought
to teach them!”
“We’re doing our best,” laughed
the other. “Come and help us.”
Samuel was quite dumfounded. “But how do
people come to have all these false ideas about you?”
he asked.
“Those are the ideas that the masters want them
to have.”
Samuel was clutching at the arms of his chair.
“Why—it’s a conspiracy!”
he cried.
“Precisely,” said the other. “A
conspiracy of the ruling class. They own the
newspapers and the books, the colleges and churches
and governments. And they tell lies about us
and keep us down.”
And so Samuel found himself face to face with the
ultimate horror of Capitalism. It was bad enough
to own the means whereby the people lived, and to
starve and exploit their bodies. But to own their
minds, and to lead them astray! To keep them
from finding out the way of their deliverance!
Surely that was the crime of crimes!
“I can’t believe it!” he panted.
And the young lawyer answered, “Come and work
with us a while and see for yourself.”
Samuel went home and faced a surprising experience.
There was a dapper and well-dressed young man waiting
to see him. “My name is Pollard,”
he said, “and I’m from the Lockmanville
“Express.” I want to get a story
from you.”
“A story from me?” echoed the boy in perplexity.
“An interview,” explained the other.
“I want to find out about that meeting you’re
going to hold.”
And so Samuel experienced the great thrill, which
comes sooner or later to every social reformer.
He sat in Mrs. Stedman’s little parlor, and
told his tale yet again. Mr. Pollard was young
and just out of college, and his pencil fairly flew
over his notebook. “Gosh!” he exclaimed.
“But this is hot stuff!”
To Samuel it was an extraordinary revelation.
He was surprised that the idea had not occurred to
him before. What was the use of holding meetings
and making speeches, when one could have things printed
in the papers? In the papers everyone would read
it; and they would get it straight—there
would be no chance of error. Moreover, they would
read it at their leisure, and have time to think it
all over!
And after Mr. Pollard had gone, he rushed off in great
excitement to tell Everley about it. “You
won’t need to print those circulars,” he
said. “For I told him where the meeting
was to be.”
But Everley only smiled at this. “We’ll
get out our stuff just the same,” he said.
“You’d better wait until you’ve seen
what the “Express” prints.”
