But he surprised her by saying reluctantly:
"He's dead straight, all right. He's not a grafter. I've nothing against
him personally, but he's part of a damnable system and I'd clean him out
with the rest."
"Well, there you have three of us to your hand. Who knows but that you
might convert us? Why not give us the chance? If you will give me your
address I will write to you as soon as my friends come back to town."
"I don't know whether I want to do it or not. You may be makin' game of me
for all I know."
"I am quite sincere. You interest me immensely. And we might teach you
something too--what it means to have a sense of humor. I know enough of
socialism to know that no socialist can have it. May I ask what your
occupation is?"
"I'm just a plain working-man--housebuilding line."
"Then you could only come in the evening?"
"Not at all; I get off at five. You don't have your dinner until eight in
your set, I believe," This with a sneer that curled his upper lip almost to
the septum of his nose.
"Seven. My husband works until nearly six. He rarely has time for lunch and
comes home very hungry."
Once more he looked puzzled and disconcerted, but his small steady eyes did
not waver.
"My name's James Kirkpatrick." He found the stub of a pencil in his pocket
and wrote an address on the flap of an envelope. "I'll think it over. Maybe
I'll do it. I dunno, though.
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