He sat in a big arm-chair, with his legs crossed, and his head so far in the shadow that one saw only two glowing lights, reflected from the fire on the hearth.  He spoke simply, and utterly without emotion; with the manner of a teacher setting forth to a group of scholars an axiom in geometry, he would enunciate such propositions as made the hair of an ordinary person rise on end.  And when the auditor had asserted his non-comprehension, he would proceed to elucidate by some new proposition, yet more appalling.  To Jurgis the Herr Dr. Schliemann assumed the proportions of a thunderstorm or an earthquake.  And yet, strange as it might seem, there was a subtle bond between them, and he could follow the argument nearly all the time.  He was carried over the difficult places in spite of himself; and he went plunging away in mad career—­a very Mazeppa-ride upon the wild horse Speculation.

Nicholas Schliemann was familiar with all the universe, and with man as a small part of it.  He understood human institutions, and blew them about like soap bubbles.  It was surprising that so much destructiveness could be contained in one human mind.  Was it government?  The purpose of government was the guarding of property-rights, the perpetuation of ancient force and modern fraud.  Or was it marriage?  Marriage and prostitution were two sides of one shield, the predatory man’s exploitation of the sex-pleasure.  The difference between them was a difference of class.  If a woman had money she might dictate her own terms:  equality, a life contract, and the legitimacy—­that is, the property-rights—­of her children.  If she had no money, she was a proletarian, and sold herself for an existence.  And then the subject became Religion, which was the Archfiend’s deadliest weapon.  Government oppressed the body of the wage-slave, but Religion oppressed his mind, and poisoned the stream of progress at its source.  The working-man was to fix his hopes upon a future life, while his pockets were picked in this one; he was brought up to frugality, humility, obedience—­in short to all the pseudo-virtues of capitalism.  The destiny of civilization would be decided in one final death struggle between the Red International and the Black, between Socialism and the Roman Catholic Church; while here at home, “the stygian midnight of American evangelicalism—­”

And here the ex-preacher entered the field, and there was a lively tussle.  “Comrade” Lucas was not what is called an educated man; he knew only the Bible, but it was the Bible interpreted by real experience.  And what was the use, he asked, of confusing Religion with men’s perversions of it?  That the church was in the hands of the merchants at the moment was obvious enough; but already there were signs of rebellion, and if Comrade Schliemann could come back a few years from now—­

“Ah, yes,” said the other, “of course, I have no doubt that in a hundred years the Vatican will be denying that it ever opposed Socialism, just as at present it denies that it ever tortured Galileo.”