us?" and with a quick gesture he reached into his pocket.
"No! No!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, starting back. "Bless my election ticket! No! Never could I throw a bomb. Please don't give me one." Mr. Damon started to run away.
"A bomb!" exclaimed the Nihilist, and then he drew from his pocket some pamphlets printed in Russian. "I have no bombs. Here are some of the tracts we distribute to convert unbelievers to our cause," he went on. "Read them and you will understand what we are striving for. They will convert you, I am sure."
He went on, following the rest of the party, while Mr. Damon dropped back with Ned.
"Bless my gas meter!" gasped the odd man, as he stared at the queerly-printed documents in his hand. "I thought he was going to give me a bomb to throw!"
"I don't blame you," said Ned in a low voice. "They look like desperate men, but probably they have suffered many hardships, and they think their way of righting a wrong is the only way. I suppose you'll read those tracts," he added with with a smile.
"Hum! I'm afraid not," answered Mr. Damon. "I might just as well try to translate a Chinese laundry check. But I'll save 'em for
