m a socialist too. Who isn't? But that doesn't lead me to class hatred."
"You haven't felt the heel of this confounded system. I have."
"Ah!" said he; and catching him on that note came a rap at the front door, and, as he hung suspended, the sound of my mother letting someone in and a timid rap.
"Now," thought I, and stood up resolutely, but he would not let me. "No, no, no!" said he. "It's only for the Dorcas money."
He put his hand against my chest with an effect of physical compulsion, and cried, "Come in!"
"Our talk's just getting interesting," he protested; and there entered Miss Ramell, an elderly little yo9ung lady who was mighty in Church help in Clayton.
He greeted her--she took no notice of me--and went to his bureau, and I remember standing by my chair but unable to get out of the room. "I'm not interrupting?" asked Miss Ramell.
"Not in the least," he said; drew out the carriers and opened his desk. I could not help seeing what he did.
I was so fretted by my impotence to leave him that at the moment it did not connect at all with the research of the morning that he was taking out money. I listened sullenly to his talk with Miss Ramell, and saw only, as they say in
