yet be as hardened as theirs. That was why I thought to speak with you.”
“Well, what have you to say?”
“If you give me away, may a curse be on you!”
“Sure, I said I would not.”
“I would ask you, then, when you joined the Freeman society in Chicago and swore vows of charity and fidelity, did ever it cross your mind that you might find it would lead you to crime?”
“If you call it crime,” McMurdo answered.
“Call it crime!” cried Morris, his voice vibrating with passion. “You have seen little of it if you can call it anything else. Was it crime last night when a man old enough to be your father, was beaten till the blood dripped from his white hairs. Was that crime—or what else would you call it?”
“There are some would say it was war,” said McMurdo, “a war of two classes with all in, so that each struck as best it could.”
“Well, did you think of such a thing when you joined the Freeman’s society at Chicago?”
“No, I’m bound to say I did not.”
“Nor did I when I joined it at Philadelphia.
