Samuel went home and faced a surprising experience. There was a dapper and well-dressed young man waiting to see him. “My name is Pollard,” he said, “and I'm from the Lockmanville 'Express.' I want to get a story from you.”
“A story from me?” echoed the boy in perplexity.
“An interview,” explained the other. “I want to find out about that meeting you're going to hold.”
And so Samuel experienced the great thrill, which comes sooner or later to every social reformer. He sat in Mrs. Stedman's little parlor, and told his tale yet again. Mr. Pollard was young and just out of college, and his pencil fairly flew over his notebook. “Gosh!” he exclaimed. “But this is hot stuff!”
To Samuel it was an extraordinary revelation. He was surprised that the idea had not occurred to him before. What was the use of holding meetings and making speeches, when one could have things printed in the papers? In the papers everyone would read it; and they would get it straight—there would be no chance of error. Moreover, they would read it at their leisure, and have time to think it all over!
And after Mr. Pollard had gone, he rushed off in great excitement to tell Everley about it. “You won't need to print those circulars,” he said. “For I told him where the meeting was to be.”
But Everley only smiled at this. “We'll get out our stuff just the same,” he said. “You'd better wait until you've seen what the 'Express' prints.”
“What do you mean?” asked the boy. But Everley would not explain—he merely told Samuel to wait. He did not seem to be as much excited as he should have been.
Samuel went home again. And later on in the afternoon, while Mrs. Stedman had gone out to the grocer's, there came a knock on the door, and he opened it, and to his amazement found himself confronted by Billy Finnegan.
“Hello, young fellow!” said Finnegan.
“Hello!” said Samuel.
“What's this I hear about your making a speech?” asked Finnegan.
“I'm going to,” was the reply. “But how did you know?”
“I got it from Callahan. Slattery told him.”
“Slattery! Has he heard about it?”
“Gee, young fellow! What do you think he's boss for?”
And Finnegan gazed around the room, to make sure that they were alone.
“Sammy,” he said, “I've come to give you a friendly tip; I hope you'll have sense enough to take it.”
“What is it?” asked the other.
“Don't try to make any speech.”
“Why not?”
“Because you ain't a-going to be let to make it, Sammy.”
“But how can they stop me?”
“I dunno, Sammy. But they ain't a-going to let you.”
There was a pause.
“It's a crazy thing you're tryin' to do,” said the other. “And take my word for it—somethin' will happen to you if you go on.”
“What will happen?”
“I dunno, my boy—maybe you'll fall into the river.”
“Fall into the river!”
“Yes; or else run your head into a slungshot some night, in a dark alley. I can't tell you what—only you won't make the speech.”
Samuel was dumfounded. “You can't mean such things!” he gasped.
“Sure I mean them,” was the reply. “Why not?”
Samuel did not respond. “I don't know why you're tryin' to do this thing,” went on the other, “nor who's backing you. But from what I can make out, you've got the goods, and you've got them on most everybody in the town. You've got Slattery, and you've got Pat McCullagh, and you've got the machine. You've got Wygant and Hickman—you've even got something on Bertie Lockman, haven't you?”
“I suppose I have,” said Samuel.............