I'd better make tracks
out of here. If she was a vamp like that Bascom woman she wouldn't get me
one little bit. Plenty of them where I come from. But she's plain goddess
with eyes like headlights on an engine."
Perturbed as he was, however, he resumed his seat and drew appreciatively
at the finest cigar that had ever come his way. It had the opportune effect
of causing his class-hatred to flame afresh. No fear that he would be made
soft by teaching in the homes of these pampered cats. For the moment he
hated Alexina, seated in a carved high-back Italian chair like a young
queen on a throne.
"Well," he growled. "Let's get to business. I've brought Spargo. Marx is
too much for me. He's terrible dull and involved. He was so taken up with
his subject, I guess, that he forgot to learn how to write about it so's
people without much time and education could understand without getting a
pain in their beans. Of course I've heard him expounded many times from the
platform, but there must have been about fifty Marxes, for I've heard--or
read--just about that many expounders of him and no two agree so's you'd
notice it. That, to my mind, is the only stumbling block for socialism
--that we have a prophet who's so hard to understand.
"So, I've settled on Spargo. He has the name of being about the best
student of Marx and of socialism generally--it's split up quite a bit--and
he's easy reading.
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