“Father and I,” he said to himself, as the sudden shock of the idea impacted against his consciousness, “are supporting that whole mob.”

It gave him a sense of mightiness.  It presented itself to him in that instant that he was not a mere business man, no mere manufacturer, but a commander of men—­more than that, a lord over the destinies of men.  It was overwhelming.  This realization of his potency made him gasp.  Bonbright was very young.

He turned, to be carried on by the current.  Presently it was choked.  A stagnant pool of humanity formed around some center, pressing toward it curiously.  This center was a tiny park, about which the street divided, and the center was a man standing on a barrel by the side of a sign painted on cloth.  The man was speaking in a loud, clear voice, which was able to make itself perfectly audible even to Bonbright on the extreme edge of the mass.

“You are helpless as individuals,” the man was saying.  “If one of you has a grievance, what can he do?...  Nothing.  You are a flock of sheep. ...  If all of you have a grievance, what can you do?  You are still a pack of sheep. ...  Bonbright Foote, Incorporated, owns you, body and soul. ...  Suppose this Foote who does you the favor to let you earn millions for him—­suppose he wants to buy his wife a diamond necklace. ...  What’s to prevent him lowering your wages next week to pay for it?...  You couldn’t stop him!...  Why can an army beat a mob of double its numbers?  Because the army is organized!  Because the army fights as one man for one object! ...  You are a mob.  Capital is organized against you. ...  How can you hope to defend yourselves?  How can you force a betterment of your conditions, of your wage? ...  By becoming an army—­a labor army!...  By organizing. ...  That’s why I’m here, sent by the National Federation—­to organize you.  To show you how to resist! ...  To teach you how to make yourselves irresistible!...”  There were shouts and cheers which blotted out the speaker’s words.  Then Bonbright heard him again: 

“Bonbright Foote, Incorporated, is entitled to fair interest on the money it has invested in its plant.  It is entitled to a fair profit on the raw materials it uses in manufacture. ...  But how much of the final cost of its axles does raw material represent?  A fraction!  What gives the axles the rest of their value?...  Labor!  You men are paid two, three, some of you even four dollars a day—­for your labor.  Bonbright Foote, Incorporated, adds a little pig iron to your labor, and gives you a place to work in, and takes his millions of dollars a year. ...  Do you get your fair share?...  You do not, and you will never get a respectable fraction of your fair share till you organize—­and seize it.”

There was more.  Bonbright had never heard the like of it before and it fascinated him.  Here was a point of view that was new to him.  What did it mean?  Vaguely he had heard of Socialism, of labor unions, of the existence of a spirit of suspicion and discord between capital and labor.  Now he saw it, face uncovered starkly.