“I might ask you if there is anything right about it,” Witherspoon replied. “‘The poor ye have with you always,’ was uttered by the Son of God.  It was not only a prophecy, but a truth for all ages.  There are grades in life, and who made them?  Man.  Ah, but who made man?  God.  Then who is responsible for the grades?  Nature sets the example of inequality.  One tree is higher than another.”  His cigar had gone out.  He lighted it again and continued:  “Writers who seek to benefit the poor of ten injure them—­teach them a dissatisfaction which in its tarn brings a sort of reprisal on the part of capital.”

“I don’t agree with you,” said Henry.

“Of course not.”

“I have cause to know that you are wrong, sir.”

“You think you have,” the merchant replied.

“It is true,” Henry admitted, “that we shall always have the poor with us.”

“I thought so,” said Witherspoon.

“But it is not true that an attempt to aid them is harmful.  Their condition has steadily improved since history “—­

“You are a sentimentalist.”

“I am more than that,” said Henry.  “I am a man.”

“Hum!  And are you more than that?”

“How could I be more?”

“Easily enough.  You could be an anarchist.”

“And is that a step higher?”

“Wolves think so.”

“But I don’t”

“I hope not.”

They sat in silence.  The young man was angry, but he controlled himself.

“It is easy to scatter dangerous words in this town,” said the merchant.  “And, sir,”—­he broke off, rousing himself,—­“look at the inconsistency, the ridiculousness of your position.  I employ more than a thousand people; my son says that I oppress them.  I”—­

“Hold on; I didn’t say that.  I don’t know of any injustice that you inflict upon your employes; but I do know of such wrongs committed by other men.  But you have shown me that the condition of those creatures is hopeless.”

“What creatures?”

“Women who work for a living.”

“And do you know the cause of their hopelessness?”

“Yes; poverty and oppression.”

“Ah, but what is the cause of their poverty?”

“The greed of man.”

“Oh, no; the appetite of man—­whisky.  Nine out of ten of those so-called wretched creatures can trace their wretchedness to drink.”

“But it is not their fault.”

“Oh!”

Henry was stunned.  He saw what a wall he was butting against.  “And is this to go on forever?” he asked.

“Yes, forever.  ‘The poor ye have with you always.’”

“But present conditions may be overturned.”

“Possibly, but other conditions just as bad, or even worse, will build on the ruins.  That is the history you spoke of just now.”