LITMIR.BIZ

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a Guinea job for white men.”

      “You're picking a poor excuse for being a loafer, my friend.”

      “Who says I'm a loafer?”

      The young man shot out his hands and grasped the fellow's elbow and hand. The arm was flabby, the palm was soft. He doubled back the fingers and exhibited the palm to the crowd.

      “I don't find any labor medals here, men. Is there anybody in the crowd who can show some?” He released the struggling, cursing captive.

      “What's labor medals?” inquired a bystander.

      The big man was still denouncing them from his car, but the group paid little attention now.

      “Callous spots in the place where a working-man ought to wear them. And that place isn't on the tongue.”

      “Are you sneering at us because we can't get a job?”

      “You're a loafer yourself, and anybody can see it,” declared another.

      The young man raised his arms, showing them his palms.

      “I carry a few labor medals,” he returned, curtly.

      “Why ain't you on your job? The lord dukes won't give you one?”

      “When I work and where I work is my own business, so long as I don't beg food at back doors.”

      “Do we?”

      They had crowded around him and menaced him with murmurings and glowering gaze.

      “I should say so,” he replied, giving them an indifferent going-over with his cold eyes. “You carry all the marks.”

      Then he shouldered his way out from among them, displaying the air of one who found further discourse unprofitable.

      He strolled leisurely in the direction of the big man in the car. The crowd he had left stared after him without presuming to voice taunt or reply; there was something compelling about him.

      As Farr approached the automobile its owner stopped talking and stared at the tall stranger with some apprehension. Then the big man beckoned unobtrusively to a policeman. It was evident that Farr was not of the same sort as the ruck of men from among whom he had just emerged, nevertheless he had come from among them. The lordly man in the car had observed him moving in the group, for Farr had loomed above the heads of the others; what he had been saying to the malcontents the big man had not been able to hear, but he guessed.

      “Some sort of sneak has been stirring up the fools in this city lately,” the aristocrat informed the officer who came promptly to the side of the car. “Who is this fellow coming?”

      “I never saw him before, Colonel Dodd.”

      “Stand by! He is going to tackle me and make a grand-stand play in front of his gang. His clothes give him away—a loafing demagogue!”

      But the tall man did not pause at the car or even glance at the dignitary who occupied it. He seemed to have lost all interest in the occasion. He yawned as he passed the automobile and started away across the square.

      “Here, you! You big chap!” called Colonel Dodd, promptly emboldened.

      Farr halted and turned, his countenance showing mild inquiry.

      “What do you mean by coming into a peaceable city and stirring up labor troubles?”

      “Have I done so?”

      “You have just been mixing and mingling with those men, talking to them. I know your kind.”

      “Ah, a gentleman of keen discernment!”

      “I have seen you before—you fellows with long-tailed coats and short-horned ideas. We don't want your kind in this city!”

      “I seem to have made a prompt sensation without trying to do so,” returned Farr, meekly. “I have been in your city less than fifteen minutes, sir!”

      “You're a traveling labor-agitator, aren't you?”

      “No, sir.”

      “But I just saw you circulating among those men. Your rig-out shows your character!”

      “You mean these garments I wear?”

      “Certainly! A frock-coat helps out your pose before an ignorant public.”

      “He stole that coat from me,” squeaked a fat man, standing at a little distance, scrubbing a torn sleeve over his grimy, sweat-streaked face. “He picked it fair off'n my back. I have follered him to show him up as a robber and a fake. That's so help me!”

      Riotous laughter from all the listeners followed that declaration; a glance at the tubby tramp and survey of the tall young man whose contours fitted the garments made the fat man's assertion seem like a huge joke.

      “I can prove it!” squalled the vagrant.

      “Beat it! Get out of this city!” commanded a policeman. “If you don't we'll have you on the rock-pile. What ye mean by such guff?” He flourished his stick and the tramp hurried away.

      “It's no use,” he whined. “Grab and bluff! Him what can do it best always wins. That's the way the world goes!”

      “When I took these clothes off the back of my vanishing friend I felt that they would make a change in my life,” stated Farr, with a smile which provoked more laughter. “But I did not dream that they would bring me such prominence in so short a time.” He bowed to the man in the car.

      But Colonel Dodd was angry and insistent and did not join in the merriment.

      “I say you are a labor-agitator. Any man who won't go to work himself has no right to be stirring up other workers against their own interests. You may as well own up to me, my man. These men standing around here know what you are—you have been talking with them. Outside of stirring trouble, you don't work, do you?”

      “Oh yes, my lord!”

      There was smiling mockery in the tone, almost insolence. He seemed to be willing to display to the rich man the same lack of respect he had displayed to the poor men who stood near and listened to this colloquy.

      “Oh, you do?” Colonel Dodd raised his voice. “Listen sharp, my men! Do you want to be led around by the noses by a man who doesn't work? This gentleman is going to tell us what his job is!” He sneered when he said it.

      “I am an assiduous toiler in my profession, your excellency. I am surprised that as an employer you do not recognize a real worker when you see one.”

      This tone of raillery and this stilted manner of speech promptly caught the fancy of the throng. The men crowded more closely and the orator on the trough was silent.

      “What do you work at?”

      “I am an architect, your gracious highness.”

      “Less of that insolence in the way of names, my friend! An architect, eh? Well, what did you ever build?”

      “I laid out Dream Avenue in the boom city of Expectation and built on that thoroughfare a magnificent row of castles in the air. If you had a bit more imagination I might try to sell you something in my line. But it is useless, I see! Farewell!”

      He swept off his broad-brimmed hat with a deep bow, backed away a few steps, and bowed again and went on his way. The crowd guffawed. This baiting of the city's labor magnate had most agreeably scratched their itching sense of resentment.

      “I don't know who that josher is, but I hate to lose him out of town,” confided the orator on the trough to those near him.

      “I never saw that fellow before, but I'll pinch him if you say so, Colonel Dodd,” volunteered the policeman. “Do you make complaint?”

      “No,” snapped

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