This man, I learned, was secretary of the Socialist
local of Western City. I had known there were Socialists in the
city, just as I knew there were poor, but I had never seen one, and
was curious about Abell. He was a lawyer; and that might suggest to
you a pertain type of person, brisk and well dressed--but
apparently Socialist lawyers are not true to type. Comrade Abell was
a shy, timid little man, with black hair straggling about his ears,
and sometimes into his eyes. He had a gentle, pathetic face, and his
voice was melancholy and caressing. He was clad in a frock coat of
black broadcloth, which had once been appropriate for Sunday; but I
should judge it had been worn for twenty years, for it was green
about the collar and the cuffs and button-holes.
Comrade Abell's office and also his home were in a second story,
over a grocery-store in this neighborhood, and here also was a
little hall used as a meeting-place by the Socialists. Every
Saturday night Abell and two or three of his friends conducted a
soap-box meeting on Western City Street, and gave away propaganda
leaflets and sold a few pamphlets and books.
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