body and a darkened mind. Those responsible for his awful injuries refused him just compensation, and his faithful wife had the privilege of hearing the honorable court declare that the law provides no recompense for the poor. My friends, John Bradley lies there to-day, the victim of capitalist greed. Look on his dead face and ask yourselves how long you, who have the power to change this brutal system of exploitation of the toiler, will suffer yourselves to remain the passive instruments of your own undoing."
He paused, flung back a lock of his dark hair, and then, like a true Marc Antony, with deprecatory gesture and pleading tone he went on: "Pardon me, my friends! I did not intend, in this solemn hour, to rouse your passions or stir up hatred for your masters. But the contemplation of such a crime as has been committed here leads me into speech that, however unwise it may be, is the true expression of the feeling of my heart. I have but one word more to say. You have observed that there is no religious service here to-day. This is as it should be. It is not fitting that the body of our dead comrade should be committed to the earth under the forms and auspices of a Church controlled by capitalism and made pompous by wealth. Do not misunderstand me. With true piety I have no quarrel. Worship God if you want to; but not the God set up by the plutocrat in his costly temple into which the proletariat may hardly dare to set their feet. I tell you that when this social house of cards that the money kings have built up shall topple—as it will—to its fall, their soulless, bloodless, godless Church will join it in the wreck. That is all, my friends. I beg you to hold these things in your hearts as you fight for liberty, and some glorious morning you shall wake up free."
With the plaudits of his hearers ringing in his ears, he stepped back into the room where Mary Bradley sat.
