‘Why, no,’ returned Otto, ‘not precisely what they call so. Why do you ask?’
‘I will tell you why,’ said the young man. ‘I saw from the first that you were a red progressional, and nothing but the fear of old Killian kept you back. And there, sir, you were right: old men are always cowards. But nowadays, you see, there are so many groups: you can never tell how far the likeliest kind of man may be prepared to go; and I was never sure you were one of the strong thinkers, till you hinted about women and free love.’
‘Indeed,’ cried Otto, ‘I never said a word of such a thing.’
‘Not you!’ cried Fritz. ‘Never a word to compromise! You was sowing seed: ground-bait, our president calls it. But it’s hard to deceive me, for I know all the agitators and their ways, and all the doctrines; and between you and me,’ lowering his voice, ‘I am myself affiliated. O, yes, I am a secret society man, and here is my medal.’ And drawing out a green ribbon that he wore about his neck, he held up, for Otto’s inspection, a pewter medal bearing the imprint of a Phœnix and the legend Libertas. ‘And so now you see you may trust me,’ added Fritz, ‘I am none of your ale-house talkers; I am a convinced revolutionary.’ And he looked meltingly upon Otto.
