I started to tell; but I was interrupted by a piercing shriek.  A sick and emaciated young girl with paralyzed limbs had been carried into the room.  They had laid her on the couch, from which the child had been taken away, and Carpenter had put his hands upon her.  At once the girl had risen up—­and here she stood, her hands flung into the air, literally screaming her triumphant joy.  Of course the crowd took it up—­these primitive people are always glad of a chance to make a big noise, so the whole room was in a clamor, and Carpenter had hard work to extract himself from the throng which wished to touch his hands and his clothing, and to worship him on their knees.

He came over to us, and smiled.  “Is not this better than acting, Mary?

“Yes, surely—­if one can do it.”

Said he:  “Everyone could do it, if they knew.”

“Is that really true?” she asked, with passionate earnestness.

“There is a god in every man, and in every woman.”

“Why don’t they know it, then?”

“There is a god, and also a beast.  The beast is old, and familiar, and powerful; the god is new, and strange, and afraid.  Because of his fear, the beast kills him.”

“What is the beast?”

“His name is self; and he has many forms.  In men he is greed; in women he is vanity, and goes attired in much raiment—­the chains, and the bracelets, and the mufflers—­”

“Oh, don’t!” cried Mary, wildly.

“Very well, Mary; I won’t.”  And he didn’t.  But, looking at Mary, it seemed that she was just as unhappy as if he had.

He turned to an old man who had hobbled into the room on crutches.  “Poor old comrade!  Poor old friend!” His voice seemed to break with pity.  “They have worked you like an old mule, until your skin is cracked and your joints grown hard; but they have not been so kind to you as to an old mule—­they have left you to suffer!”

To a pale young woman who staggered towards him, coughing, he cried:  “What can I do for you?  They are starving you to death!  You need food—­and I have no food to give!” He raised his arms, in sudden wrath.  “Bring forth the masters of this city, who starve the poor, while they themselves riot in wantonness!”

But the members of the Chamber of Commerce and of the Bankers’ Association of Western City were not within hearing, nor are their numbers as a rule to be found in the telephone book.  Carpenter looked about the place, now lined pretty well with cripples and invalids.  Only a couple of hours of spreading rumor had been needed to bring them forth, unholy and dreadful secrets, dragged from the dark corners and back alley-ways of these tenements.  He gazed from one crooked and distorted face to another, and put his hand to his forehead with a gesture of despair.  “No, no!” he said.  “It is of no use!” He lifted his voice, calling once more to the masters of the city.  “You make them faster than I can heal them!  You make them by machinery—­and he who would help them must break the machine!”