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Updated: May 8, 2025
What do you think of his commission on your Manchester strike?" "He kept his word," Maraton admitted. "I expected no less." "I can tell you this," she went on, "because I know that he will tell you himself after luncheon. The masters met here this morning. They are simply furious with my uncle, but they have had to give in.
"I am her brother," Aaron announced. "It is most important." The boy slipped from a worn stool and disappeared. Presently the door of the little waiting-room was suddenly opened, and a girl entered. "Aaron!" she exclaimed. "Has anything happened?" Once more he raised his head, once more the light that flickered in his face transformed him into some semblance of a virile man. "Maraton is here!
You have been in the wilderness, you have seen the life of those others, you have the feeling for them in your heart. Can you sit at table with these people and wear their clothes, and not feel like a hypocrite?" "I assure you," Maraton replied, "that I can." She was trembling slightly. She had never seemed to him so tall. Her eyes now were ablaze. She had indeed the air of a prophetess.
The young man remounted his coach, and Maraton passed on. He walked without a pause to the square in which his house was situated. Here he found Aaron hard at work and, sitting down at once, he began to sign his letters. "No end of people have been here," Aaron announced. "I have got rid of them all." "Good!" Maraton said shortly. "By-the-bye, Aaron, isn't there a meeting to-night at the Clarion?"
I am one of the oppressed. Men or women, Jews or Christians, infidels or believers what does it matter? We are those who have been broken upon the wheel. Deliverance for us will come too late. We fight for those who will follow. It is Maraton who points towards the light. It is Maraton whose hand shall press the levers which shall set the kingdoms rocking.
"It is never wise," Culvain suggested quietly, "to have the public against one." Maraton rose a little abruptly to his feet. He had the air of one eager to dismiss the subject. "Gentlemen," he announced, "I've heard your views. In a few days' time you shall hear mine. Only let me tell you this. To me you all seem to be working and thinking on very narrow lines.
They're for you, sir, body and soul. They won't give in." "Thank God!" Maraton muttered. "What about the mob?" "Loafers and wastrels," Aaron exclaimed indignantly, "dirty parasites of humanity, thieves; not an honest worker amongst them! They're the sort who shouted themselves hoarse on Mafeking night and hid in their holes when the war drums were calling.
Am I improving?" Selingman rose to his feet. He drained his glass of wine and lit one of his long black cigars by the flame of the candle. "Dear Julia," he said, "you have spoken. I start on the quest of my life." Selingman had scarcely left the place when Ernshaw arrived, piloted into the room by Aaron, who had been waiting for him below. Maraton and he gripped hands heartily.
Maraton asked quietly. "Don't you think that it may lead to disappointment?" She considered the thought for a moment and brushed it away. "We are not afraid, Aaron and I." "You are belligerents, both of you." "And so are you," Julia retorted swiftly. "What was it you said in Chicago about the phrase-makers? the Socialism that flourished in the study while women and children starved in the streets?
I call him a traitor, and if the thing comes he speaks of, may he be hung from the nearest lamp-post! That's all I've got to say." Maraton opened his lips and closed them again. He looked slowly down that wall of blank, unsympathetic faces and he merely shrugged his shoulders. Words were wasted upon them. "Very well, gentlemen," he said, "let it be war.
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