The Conflict by David Graham Phillips
page 57 of 399 (14%)
page 57 of 399 (14%)
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still seeing the fantastic side of this grand game of swindle.
Two paragraphs made an especial impression on her: ``Remsen City is no worse--and no better--than other American cities. It's typical. But we who live here needn't worry about the rest of the country. The thing for us to do is to CLEAN UP AT HOME.'' ``We are more careful than any paper in this town about verifying every statement we make, before we make it. If we should publish a single statement about anyone that was false even in part we would be suppressed. The judges, the bosses, the owners of the big blood-sucking public service corporations, the whole ruling class, are eager to put us out of existence. Don't forget this fact when you hear the New Day called a lying, demagogical sheet.'' With the paper beside her on the rustic bench, she fell to dreaming--not of a brighter and better world, of a wiser and freer race, but of Victor Dorn, the personality that had unaided become such a power in Remsen City, the personality that sparkled and glowed in the interesting pages of the New Day, that made its sentences read as if they were spoken into your very ears by an earnest, honest voice issuing from a fascinating, humor-loving, intensely human and natural person before your very eyes. But it was not round Victor Dorn's brain that her imagination played. ``After all,'' thought she, ``Napoleon wasn't much over five feet. Most of the big men have been little men. Of course, |
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