His fervors for them increased every time he
heard them assailed; he wanted to meet some of them, and
passionately, yet respectfully, pour out to them his allegiance. A
glow of satisfaction came over him as he pictured himself in some
palace, lounging upon a silken conch and explaining to a millionaire
his understanding of the value of beauty and splendor in the world.
And now he was to meet one; it was to be a part of his job to
cultivate one! True, there was something wrong with this particular
millionaire--he was one of those freaks who for some reason beyond
imagining gave their sympathy to the dynamiters and assassins. Peter
had met "Parlor Reds" at the home of the Todd sisters; the large
shining ladies who came in large shining cars to hear him tell of
his jail experiences. But he hadn't been sure as to whether they
were really millionaires or not, and Sadie, when he had inquired
particularly, had answered vaguely that every one in the radical
movement who could afford an automobile or a dress-suit was called a
millionaire by the newspapers.
But young Lackman was a real millionaire, McGivney positively
assured him; and so Peter was free to admire him in spite of all his
freak ideas, which the rat-faced man explained with intense
amusement.
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