The man’s cheeks were flushed with anger, his brows lowered.  Something of his indignation was reflected in the faces of all of them—­momentarily a queer sort of cupidity seemed to have stolen into their expressions.  Maraton shrugged his shoulders slightly.

“Why should I subscribe to your Party funds?” he asked calmly.  “Some of you do good work, no doubt, and yet there is no such destroyer of good work as money.  Work, individual effort, unselfish enthusiasm, are the torches which should light on your cause.  Money would only serve the purpose of a slow poison amongst you.”

“Prattle!” Abraham Weavel muttered.

“Rot!” Peter Dale agreed.  “Just another question, Mr. Maraton:  Why have you kept this secret from us?”

“I will make a statement,” Maraton replied coolly.  “Perhaps it will save needless questions.  My money is derived from oil springs.  I prospected for them myself, and I have had to fight for them.  It was in wilder days than you know of here.  I have a younger brother, or rather a half-brother, whom I was sorry to see over here the other day, who is my partner.  My average profits are twenty-eight thousand pounds a year.  Ten thousand pounds goes to the support of a children’s home in New York; the remainder is distributed in other directions amongst institutions for the rescue of children.  Five thousand a year I keep for myself.”

“Five thousand a year!” Peter Dale gasped indignantly.  “Did you hear that?” he added, turning to the others.

“Four hundred a year and a hundred and fifty from subscriptions, and that’s every penny I have to bring up seven children upon,” Weavel declared with disgust.

“And mine’s less than that, and the subscriptions falling off,” Borden grunted.

“What sort of a Socialist is a man with five thousand a year who keeps his pockets tightly buttoned up, I should like to know?” Graveling exclaimed angrily.

Maraton smiled.

“You have common sense, I am sure, all of you,” he said.  “In fact, no one could possibly accuse you of being dreamers.  Every effort of my life will be devoted towards the promulgation of my beliefs, absolutely without regard to my pecuniary position.  I admit that the possession of wealth is contrary to the principles of life which I should like to see established.  Still, until conditions alter, it would be even more contrary to my principles to distribute my money in charity which I abominate, or to weaken good causes by unwholesome and unearned contributions to them.  Shall we now proceed to the subject of our discussion?”

“What is it, anyway?” Peter Dale demanded gruffly.  “Do you find that after being so plaguey independent you need our help after all?  Is that what it is?”