The girl stood looking from one man to the other; from Dulac, tall,
picturesquely handsome, flamboyant, conscious of the effect of each
word and gesture, to Bonbright, equally tall, something broader,
boyish, natural in his unease, his curiosity. She saw how like he was
to his slender, aristocratic father. She compared the courtesy of his
manner toward Dulac with Dulac's studied brusqueness, conscious that
the boy was natural, honest, really endeavoring to find out what this
thing was all about; equally conscious that Dulac was exercising the
tricks of the platform and utilizing the situation theatrically. Yet
he was utilizing it for a purpose with which she was heart and soul
in sympathy. It was right he should do so. ...

"I wish we might sit down and talk about it," said Bonbright. "There
seem to be two sides in the works, mine and father's--and the men. I
don't see why there should be, and I'd like to have you tell me. You
see, this is my first day in the business, so I don't understand my
own side of it, or why I should have a side--much less the side of
the men. I hadn't imagined anything of the sort. ... I wish you would
tell me all about it. Will you?"

The boy's tone was so genuine, his demeanor so simple and friendly,
that Dulac's weapons were quite snatched from his hands. A crowd of
the men he was sent to organize was looking on--a girl was looking
on. He felt the situation demanded he should show he was quite as
capable of courtesy as this young sprig of the aristocracy, for he
knew comparisons were being made between them.

"Why," said he, "certainly. ... I shall be glad to."

"Thank you," said Bonbright. "Good night." He turned to the girl and