Dope-fiends and harlots from the Red-Light district, "madames" and pimps and hangers-on, swore to the white-slave activities of this man, who never yet in all his four and twenty years had so much as entered a brothel.
Forged papers fixed past crimes and sentences on him.

By innuendo and direct statement, dynamitings, arsons, violence and rioting in many strikes were laid at his door.

His Socialist activities were dragged in the slime of every gutter; and his Party made to suffer for evil deeds existing only in the foul imagination of the prosecuting attorneys.

The finest "kept" brains in the legal profession conducted the case from start to finish; and not a juryman was drawn on the panel who was not, from the first, sworn to convict, and bought and paid for in hard cash.
After three days--days in which Gabriel plumbed the bitterest depths of Hell and drank full draughts of gall and wormwood--the verdict came.
Came, and was flashed from sea to sea by an exulting press; and preached on, and editorialized on, and gloated over by Flint and Waldron and many, many others of that ilk--while Catherine wept tears that seemed to drain her very heart of its last drops of blood.
At last she knew the meaning of the Class Struggle and her terrible father's part in it all.

At last she understood what Gabriel had so long understood and now was paying for--the fact that Hell hath no fury like Capitalism when endangered or opposed.
The Price! Gabriel now must pay it, to the full.