“We’ll send you to Congress and it will be all right,” they told him at one of our secret meetings.
“And when they take me out of Congress,” Ernest replied coldly, “and put me against a wall, and blow my brains out—what then?”
“Then we’ll rise in our might,” a dozen voices answered at once.
“Then you’ll welter in your gore,” was his retort. “I’ve heard that song sung by the middle class, and where is it now in its might?”