Hal sat staring in front of him, silent. Was it a fact that every man had something in his life which palsied his arm, and struck him helpless in the battle for social justice? When he spoke again, it was in a low voice. “Edward, I'm thinking about a young Irish boy who works in these mines. He, too, has a father; and this father was caught in the explosion. He's an old man, with a wife and seven other children. He's a good man, the boy's a good boy. Let me tell you what Peter Harrigan has done to them!”
“Well,” said Edward, “whatever it is, it's all right, you can help them. They won't need to starve.”
“I know,” said Hal, “but there are so many others; I can't help them all. And besides, can't you see, Edward—what I'm thinking about is not charity, but justice. I'm sure this boy, Tim Rafferty, loves his father just exactly as much as I love my father; and there are other old men here, with sons who love them—”
“Oh, Hal, for Christ's sake!” exclaimed Edward, in a sort of explosion. He had no other words to express his impatience. “Do you expect to take all the troubles in the world on your shoulders?” And he sprang up and caught the other by the arm. “Boy, you've got to come away from here!”
Hal got up, without answering. He seemed irresolute, and his brother started to draw him towards the door. “I've got a car here. We can get a train in an hour—”
Hal saw that he had to speak firmly. “No, Edward,” he said. “I can't come just yet.”
“I tell you you must come!”
“I can't. I made these men a promise!”
“In God's name—what are these men to you? Compared with your own father!”
“I can't explain it, Edward. I've talked for half an hour, and I don't think you've even heard me. Suffice it to say that I see these people caught in a trap—and one that my whole life has h............