Oh, no, it was to keep down the spirit of liberty, Son, it was
to make them content to be slaves! And so it is here.
These merchants and capitalists are only looking out for themselves,
trying to keep labor down and not let it know how oppressed it is,
trying to get people here from everywhere to show what a fine
city they have and get their money."

"Well, 'TIS a fine town," Tim burst in, "a boss town!
And they ain't gouging folks a little bit. None of the hotels
or the restaurants have put up their prices one cent.
Look what a dandy supper we got for twenty-five cents!
And ain't the boy at Lumley's grocery given me two tickets to set
on the steamboat? There's nothing mean about this town!"

Nelson made no remark; but he thought, for the fiftieth time, that his
farm was too near the city. Tim was picking up all the city boys'
false pride as well as their slang. Unconscious Tim resumed his tune.
He knew that it was "Annie Rooney" if no one else did, and he mangled
the notes with appropriate exhilaration.

Now, the river was as busy as the land, lights swimming hither
and thither; steamboats with ropes of tiny stars bespangling
their dark bulk and a white electric glare in the bow, low boats
with lights that sent wavering spear-heads into the shadow beneath.
The bridge was a blazing barbed fence of fire, and beyond the bridge,
at the point of the island, lay a glittering multitude of lights,
a fairy fleet with miniature sails outlined in flame as if by jewels.

Nelson followed Tim. The crowds, the ceaseless clatter of
tongues and jar of wheels, depressed the man, who hardly knew