in itself is the most serious of ills in a republic,—­the ignorance and disregard of the voter.  You have but to read the signs of the times to see clearly that the day of such conditions is past, to see that the citizens of this State and this country are thinking for themselves, as they should; are alive to the dangers and determined to avert it.  You may succeed in electing one more governor and one more senate, or two, before the people are able to destroy the machinery you have built up and repeal the laws you have made to sustain it.  I repeat, it doesn’t matter in the long run.  The era of political domination by a corporation, and mainly for the benefit of a corporation, is over.”

Mr. Flint had been drumming on the desk, his face growing a darker red as Austen proceeded:  Never, since he had become president of the Northeastern Railroads, had any man said such things to his face.  And the fact that Austen Vane had seemingly not spoken in wrath, although forcefully enough to compel him to listen, had increased Mr. Flint’s anger.  Austen apparently cared very little for him or his opinions in comparison with his own estimate of right and wrong.

“It seems,” said Mr. Flint, “that you have grown more radical since your last visit.”

“If it be radical to refuse to accept a pass from a railroad to bind my liberty of action as an attorney and a citizen, then I am radical,” replied Austen.  “If it be radical to maintain that the elected representatives of the people should not receive passes, or be beholden to any man or any corporation, I acknowledge the term.  If it be radical to declare that these representatives should be elected without interference, and while in office should do exact justice to the body of citizens on the one hand and the corporations on the other, I declare myself a radical.  But my radicalism goes back behind the establishment of railroads, Mr. Flint, back to the foundation of this government, to the idea from which it sprang.”

Mr. Flint smiled again.

“We have changed materially since then,” he said.  “I am afraid such a utopian state of affairs, beautiful as it is, will not work in the twentieth century.  It is a commercial age, and the interests which are the bulwark of the country’s strength must be protected.”

“Yes,” said Austen, “we have changed materially.  The mistake you make, and men like you, is the stress which you lay on that word material.  Are there no such things as moral interests, Mr. Flint?  And are they not quite as important in government, if not more important, than material interests?  Surely, we cannot have commercial and political stability without cominertial and political honour! if, as a nation, we lose sight of the ideals which have carried us so far, which have so greatly modified the conditions of other peoples than ourselves, we shall perish as a force in the world.  And if this government proves a failure, how long do you think the material interests of which you are so solicitous will endure?  Or do you care whether they endure beyond your lifetime?  Perhaps not.  But it is a matter of importance, not only to the nation, but to the world, whether or not the moral idea of the United States of America is perpetuated, I assure you.”