“I’m a butcher down in the stock-yards, Mr. Converse,” said one man, who pressed forward.  “We’ve got trained bulls there who tole the cattle along into the slaughter-pens.  I’ve got tired of being a steer in politics and following these old trained bulls.”

Converse worked his way through the press to the door, Farr at his heels.

When they were on the street the honorable gentleman turned sharply toward the Boulevard.

“I haven’t any spirit or taste to-night for moonlight in the park, sir!  A nice trick you played on me.”

“I wanted you to get a first-hand notion of a state of affairs, Mr. Converse.”

“But you ought to understand my temperament better—­you ought to know it’s going to stick in my mind, worry me, vex me, set me to seeking for remedies.  It’s just as if I’d been retained on a case.  I feel almost duty-bound to pitch in.”

“It’s strange how a man gets pulled into a thing sometimes—­into something he had no idea of meddling with,” philosophized Farr, blandly.  “That’s the way it has happened in my case.”

“It has, eh?” demanded Mr. Converse, sharply.  He had tacitly accepted the young man’s companionship for the walk back to the Boulevard.  “Now, look here!  Just who are you?”

“My name is Farr and I’m nothing.”

“You needn’t bluff me—­you’re a politician—­a candidate for something.”

“I’m not even a voter in this state.  It’s men like you, sir, who ought to be candidates for the high offices.”

“My sainted father trained me to respect self-sacrifice, Mr. Farr.  But for a clean man to try to accomplish things for the people in politics these days isn’t self-sacrifice—­it’s martyrdom.  The cheap politicians heap the fagots, the sneering newspapers light the fire and keep blowing it with their bellows, and the people stand around and seem to show a sort of calm relish in watching the operation.  And when it is all over not a bit of good has been done.”

“I’m afraid I have wasted an evening for you, sir.  I’m sorry.  I hoped the troubles of those men, when you heard them at first hand, would interest you.”

“Interest me!  Confound it all, you have wrecked my peace of mind!  I knew it all before.  But I’m selfish, like almost everybody else.  I kept away where I couldn’t hear about these things.  Now, if I sleep soundly to-night I’ll be ashamed to look up at my father’s portrait when I walk into my office to-morrow morning.  Why didn’t you have better sense than to coax me into your infernal meeting?” He rapped his cane angrily against the curbstone as he strode on.  “And the trouble with me is,” continued Mr. Converse, with much bitterness, “I know the conditions are such in this state that a meeting like that can be assembled in every city and town—­and the complaints will be just and demand help.  But there’s no organization—­it’s only blind kittens miauling.  It’s damnable!”

“But this is the kind of country where some mighty quick changes can be made when the people do get their eyes open,” suggested the young man.