LITMIR.BIZ

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for an instant on Tom. The men began to move forward cautiously. Then the transformation that had taken place on the St. Etienne Hotel took place again. The courage faded from him, and he turned and started up the inclined plank for the street.

      Jeers broke from the men. Caps and greasy gloves pelted Petersen's retreating figure. One man, the smallest of the gang, ran up the plank after him.

      "Do him up, Kid!" the men shouted scrambling up to the sidewalk.

      Kid, with showy valiance, aimed an upward blow at the Swede's head. Petersen warded off the fist with automatic ease, but made no attempt to strike back. He started away, walking sidewise, one eye on his path, one on his little assailant who kept delivering fierce blows that somehow failed to reach their mark.

      "If he ain't runnin' from Kid!" ejaculated the men. "Good boy, Kid!"

      The blows became faster and fiercer. At the corner Petersen turned back, held his foe at bay an instant, and a second time Tom felt the resentment of his eyes. Then he was driven around the corner. A minute later the little man came back, puffed out and swaggering.

      "What an infernal coward!" the men marveled, as they went back to work.

      That was a hard evening for Tom. He not only had to work for votes, but he met two or three lieutenants who were disheartened by the men's slowness to promise support, and to these friends he had to give new courage. Twice, as he was talking to men on the street, he glimpsed the tall, lean figure of Petersen, standing in a doorway as though waiting for someone.

      The end of his exhausting evening's work found him near the Barrys', and he dropped in for an exchange of experiences. Barry and Pig Iron Pete had themselves come in but a few minutes before.

      "Got work on your job for a couple more men?" asked Pete after the first words had been spoken.

      "Hello! You haven't been fired?"

      "That's it," answered Pete; and Barry nodded.

      "Foley's work, I suppose?"

      "Sure. Foley put Jake Henderson up to it. Oh, Jake makes a hot foreman! Driscoll ought to pay him ten a day to keep off the job. Jake complained against us an' got us fired. Said we didn't know our business."

      "Well, it's only for another week, boys," Tom cheered them.

      "If you think that then you've had better luck with the men than me 'n' Barry has," Pete declared in disgust. "They're a bunch o' old maids! Foley's too good for 'em. I don't see why we should try to force 'em to take somethin' better." The whole blankety-blanked outfit had Pete's permission to go where they didn't need a forge to heat their rivets.

      "You don't understand 'em, Pete," returned Tom. "They've got to think first of all of how to earn a living for their families. Of course they're going to hesitate to do anything that will endanger their chance to earn a living. And you seem to forget that we've only got to get one man in five to win out."

      "An' we've got to get him!" said Barry, almost fiercely.

      "D'you think there's much danger of your losin', Tom?" Mrs. Barry queried anxiously.

      "Not if we work. But we've got to work."

      Mrs. Barry was silent for several moments, during which the talk of the men ran on. Suddenly, she broke in: "Don't you think the women'd have some influence with their husbands?"

      Tom was silent for a thoughtful minute. "Some of them, mebbe."

      "More'n you think, I bet!" Mrs. Barry declared. "It's worth tryin', anyhow. Here's what I'm goin' to do: I'm goin' to start out to-morrow an' begin visitin' all the union women I know. I can get the addresses of others from them. An' I'll keep at it every afternoon I can get away till the election. I'll talk to 'em good an' straight an' get 'em to talk to other women. An' we'll get a lot o' the men in line, see if we don't!"

      Tom looked admiringly at Mrs. Barry's homely face, flushed with determination. "The surest thing we can do to win is to put you up for walking delegate. I'll hustle for you."

      "Oh, g'wan with you, Tom!" She smiled with pleasure, however. "I've got a picture o' myself climbin' up ladders an' buyin' drinks for the men."

      "If you was the walkin' delegate," said Pete, "we'd always work on the first floor, an' never drink nothin' but tea."

      "You shut up, Pete!" Mrs. Barry looked at Tom. "I suppose you're wife'll help in this, too?"

      Tom looked steadily at the scroll in Mrs. Barry's red rug. "I'm afraid not," he said at length. "She – she couldn't stand climbing the stairs."

      It was after eleven o'clock when Tom left the Barrys' and started through the quiet cross street toward a car line. A man stepped from an adjoining doorway, and fell in a score of paces behind him. Tom heard rapid steps drawing nearer and nearer, but it was not till the man had gained to within a pace that it occurred to him perhaps he was being followed. Then it was too late. His arm was seized in a grip of steel.

      The street was dark and empty. Thoughts of Foley's entertainment committee flashed through his head. He whirled about and struck out fiercely with his free arm. His wrist was caught and held by a grip like the first. He was as helpless as if handcuffed.

      "I vant a yob," a savage voice demanded.

      Tom recognized the tall, angular figure. "Hello, Petersen! What d'you want?"

      "I vant a yob."

      "A job. How can I give you a job?"

      "You take to-day ma yob avay. You give me a yob!"

      In a flash Tom understood. The Swede held him accountable for the incident of the morning, and was determined to force another job from him. Was the man crazy? At any rate 'twould be wiser to parley than to bring on a conflict with one possessed of such strength as those hands betokened. So he made no attempt to break loose.

      "I can't give you a job, I say."

      "You take it avay!" the Swede said, with fierce persistence. "You make me leave!"

      "It's your own fault. If you want to work, why don't you get into the union?"

      Tom felt a convulsive shiver run through the man's big frame. "De union? Ah, de union! Ev'ryvare I ask for yob. Ev'ryvare! 'You b'long to union?' de boss say. 'No,' I say. De boss give me no yob. De union let me not vork! De union – !" His hands gripped tighter in his impotent bitterness.

      "Of course the union won't let you work."

      "Vy? I am strong! – yes. I know de vork."

      Tom felt that no explanation of unionism, however lucid, would quiet this simple-minded excitement. So he said nothing.

      "Vy should I not vork? Dare be yobs. I know how to vork. But no! De union! I mak dis mont' two days. I mak seven dollar. Seven dollar!" He fairly shook Tom, and a half sob broke from his lips. "How de union tank I live? My family? – me? Seven dollar?"

      Tom recognized with a thrill that which he was hearing. It was the man's soul crying out in resentment and despair.

      "But you can't blame the union," he said weakly, feeling that his answer did not answer.

      "You tank not?" Petersen cried fiercely. "You tank not?" He was silent a brief space, and his breath surged in and out as though he had just paused from running. Suddenly he freed Tom's wrists and set his right hand into Tom's left arm. "Come! I show you vot de union done."

      He started away. Those iron fingers locked about the prisoner's arm were a needless fetter. The Swede's despairing soul, glimpsed for a moment, had thrown a spell upon Tom, and he would have followed willingly.

      Their long strides matched, and their heel-clicks coincided. Both were silent. At the end of ten minutes they were in a narrow street, clifted on its either side with tenements that reached up darkly. Presently the Swede turned down a stairway, sentineled by garbage cans. Tom thought they were entering a basement. But Petersen walked on, and in the solid blackness Tom was glad of the hand locked on his arm. They mounted a flight of stone steps, and came into a little stone-paved court. Far above there was a roof-framed square of stars. Petersen led the way across the court and into the doorway of a rear tenement. The air was rotting. They went up two flights of stairs,

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