The distance to Tom's home was half a hundred blocks, but he chose to walk. Anger, disappointment, and underlying these the hopeless sense of being barred from his trade, all demanded the sympathy of physical exertion – and, too, there was the inevitable meeting with his wife. Walking would give him an hour before that.

It was after one when he opened the hall door and stepped into his flat. Through the dining-room he could see the gas in the sitting-room was turned down to a point, and could see Maggie lying on the couch, a flowered comforter drawn over her. He guessed she had stayed up to wait for his report. He listened. In the night's dead stillness he could faintly hear her breath come deep and regular. Seizing at the chance of postponing the scene, he cautiously closed the hall door, and, sitting down on a chair beside it, removed his shoes. He crossed on tiptoe toward their bedroom, but its door betrayed him by a creak. He turned quickly about. There was Maggie, propped up on one arm, the comforter thrown back.

She looked at him for a space without speaking. Through all his other feelings Tom had a sense that he made anything but a brave figure, standing in his stocking feet, his shoes in one hand, hat and overcoat on.

"Well?" she demanded at length.

Tom returned her fixed gaze, and made no reply to her all-inclusive query.

Her hands gripped her covering. She gave a gasp. Then she threw back the comforter and slipped to her feet.

"I understand!" she said. "Everything! I knew it! O-o-h!" There were more resentment and recrimination packed into that prolonged "oh" than she could have put into an hour's upbraiding.

Tom kept himself in hand. He knew the futility of explanation, but he explained. "I won, fairly. But Foley robbed me. He stuffed the ballot-box."

"It makes no difference how you lost! You lost! That's what I've got to face. You know I didn't want you to go into this. I knew you couldn't win. I knew Foley was full of tricks. But you went in. You lost wages. You threw away money —our money! And what have you got to show for it all?"

Tom let her words pass in silence. On his long walk he had made up his mind to bear her fury quietly.

"Oh, you!" she cried through clenched teeth, stamping a bare foot on the floor. "You do what you please, and I suffer for it. You wouldn't take my advice. And now you're out of a job and can't get one in your trade. How are we to live? Tell me that, Tom Keating? How are we to live?"

Only the word he had passed with himself enabled Tom to hold himself in after this outburst. "I'll find work."

"Find work! A hod-carrier! Oh, my God!"

She turned and flung herself at full length upon the couch, and lay there sobbing, her hands passionately gripping the comforter.

Tom silently watched the workings of her passion for a moment. He realized the measure of right on her side, and his sense of justice made his spirit unbend. "If we have to live close, it'll only be for a time," he said.

"Oh, my God!" she moaned.

He grimly turned and went into the bedroom. After a while he came out again. She had drawn the comforter over her, but her irregular breathing told him she was still awake.

"Aren't you coming to bed?" he asked.

She made no answer, and he went back. For half an hour he tossed about. Then he came into the sitting-room again. Her breath was coming quietly and regularly. He sat down and gazed at her handsome face for a long, long time, with misty, wondering thoughts. Then he rose with a deep-drawn sigh, took part of the covering from the bed, and spread it over her sleeping figure.

He tossed about long before he fell into a restless sleep. It was early when he awoke. He looked into the sitting-room. Maggie was still sleeping. He quickly dressed himself in his best suit (the one he had had on the night before was beyond further wearing), noting with surprise that his face bore few marks of conflict, and stole quietly out.

Tom's disappointment and anger were too fresh to allow him to put his mind upon plans for the future. All day he wandered aimlessly about, talking over the events of the previous night with such of his friends as chance put in his path. Late in the afternoon he met Pete and Barry, who had been looking for work since morning. They sat down in a saloon and talked about the election till dinner time. It was decided that Tom should protest the election and appeal to the union – a move they all agreed had little promise. Tom found a soothing gratification in Pete's verbal handling of the affair; there was an ease, a broadness, a completeness, to Pete's profanity that left nothing to be desired; so that Tom was prompted to remark, with a half smile: "If there was a professorship of your kind of English over at Columbia University, Pete, you'd never have to put on overalls again."

Tom had breakfasted in a restaurant, and lunched in a restaurant, and after Pete and Barry left he had dinner in one. It was a cheap and meager meal; with his uncertain future he felt it wise to begin to count every cent. Afterwards he walked about the streets till eight, bringing up at Ruth's boarding-house. The colored maid who answered his ring brought back the message: "Miss Arnold says will you please come up."

He mounted the stairway behind the maid. Ruth was standing at the head of the stairs awaiting him.

She wore a loose white gown, held in at the waist by a red girdle, and there was a knot of red in her heavy dark hair. Tom felt himself go warm at sight of her, and there began a throbbing that beat even in his ears.

"You don't mind my receiving you in my room, do you?" she said, opening her door, after she had greeted him.

"Why, no," said Tom, slightly puzzled. His acquaintance with the proprieties was so slight that he did not know she was then breaking one.

She closed the door. "I'm glad to see you. I know what happened last night; we heard at the office." She held out her hand again. The grip was warm and full of sympathy.

The hand sent a thrill through Tom. In his fresh disappointment it was just this intelligent sympathy that he was hungry for. For a moment he was unable to speak or move.

She gently withdrew her hand. "But we heard only the bare fact. I want you to tell me the whole story."

Tom laid his hat and overcoat upon the couch, which had a dull green cover, glancing, as he did so, about the room. There were a few prints of good pictures on the walls; a small case of books; a writing desk; and in one corner a large screen whose dominant color was a dull green. The thing that struck him most was the absence of the knick-knackery with which his home was decorated. Tom was not accustomed to give attention to his surroundings, but the room pleased him; and yet it was only an ordinary boarding-house room, plus the good taste of a tasteful woman.

Tom took one of the two easy chairs in the room, and once again went over the happenings of the previous night. She interrupted again and again with indignant exclamations.

"Why, you didn't lose at all!" she cried, when he had finished the episode of the eight drunken men.

"You won, and it was stolen from you! Your Mr. Foley is a – a – " Whichever way she turned for an adequate word she ran against a restriction barring its use by femininity. "A robber!" she ended.

"But aren't you going to protest the election?"

"I shall – certainly. But there's mighty little chance of the result being changed. Foley'll see to that."

He tried to look brave, but Ruth guessed the bitterness within. She yearned to have him talk over things with her; her sympathy for him now that she beheld him dispirited after a daring fight was even warmer than when she had seen him pulsing with defiant vigor. "Won't you tell me what you are going to do? If you don't mind."

"I'd tell if I knew. But I hardly have my bearings yet."

"Are you sure you can't work at your trade?"

"Not unless I kiss Foley's shoes."

She did not like to ask him if he were going to give in, but the question was in her face, and he saw it.

"I'm not that bad licked yet."

"There's Mr. Driscoll's offer," she suggested.

"Yes. I've thought of that. I don't know what move I'll make next. I don't just see now how I'm going to keep at the fight, but I'm not ready to give it up. If I took Mr. Driscoll's job, I'd have to drop the fight, for I'd practically have to drop out of the union. If the protest fails – well, we'll see."

Ruth looked at him thoughtfully, and she thrilled with a personal pride in him. He had been beaten; the days just ahead looked black for him; but his spirit, though exhausted, was unbroken. As a result of her experience she was beginning to regard business as being largely a compromise between self-respect and profit. In Tom's place she guessed what Mr. Baxter would do, and she knew what Mr. Driscoll would do; and the thing they would do was not the thing that Tom was doing. And she wondered what would be the course of Mr. Berman.

At the moment of parting she said to him, in her frank, impulsive way: "I think you are the bravest man I have ever known." He could only stumble away from her awkwardly, for to this his startled brain had no proper answer. His courage began to bubble back into him; and the warmth aroused by her words grew and grew – till he drew near his home, and then a chill began to settle about him.

Maggie was reading the installment of a serial story in an evening paper when he came in. She glanced up, then quickly looked back at her paper without speaking.

He started into the bedroom in silence, but paused hesitant in the doorway and looked at her. "What are you reading, Maggie?"

"The Scarlet Stain."

He held his eyes upon her a moment longer, and then with a sigh went into the bedroom and lit the gas. The instant he was gone from the doorway Maggie took her eyes from the story and listened irresolutely. All day her brain had burnt with angry thoughts, and all day she had been waiting the chance to speak. But her obstinate pride now strove to keep her tongue silent.

"Tom!" she called out, at length.

He appeared in the doorway. "Yes."

"What are you going to do?"

He was silent for a space. "I don't just know yet."

"I know," she said in a voice she tried to keep cold and steady. "There's only one thing for you to do. That's to get on the square with Foley."

Their eyes met. Hers were cold, hard, rebellious.

"I'll think it over," he said quietly; and went back into the bedroom.

Chapter XIV
NEW COURAGE AND NEW PLANS

The next morning after breakfast Tom sat down to take account of his situation. But his wife's sullen presence, as she cleared away the dishes, suffocated his thoughts. He went out and walked south a few blocks to a little park that had formerly served the neighborhood as a burying-ground. A raw wind was chattering among the bare twigs of the sycamore trees; the earth was a rigid shell from the night's frost, and its little squares and oblongs of grass were a brownish-gray; the sky was overcast with gray clouds. The little park, this dull March day, was hardly more cheerful than the death it had erewhile housed, but Tom sat down in its midst with a sense of grateful relief.

His mind had already passed upon Maggie's demand of the previous evening. But would it avail to continue the fight against Foley? He had slept well, and the sleep had strengthened his spirit and cleared his brain; and Ruth's recurring words, "I think you are the bravest man I have ever known," were to him a determining inspiration. He went over the situation detail by detail, and slowly a new plan took shape.

Foley had beaten him by a trick. In six months there would be another election. He would run again, and this next time, profiting by his dear experience of Wednesday night, he would see that guard was set against every chance for unfair play. During the six months he would hammer at Foley's every weak spot, and emphasize to the union the discredit of Foley's discreditable acts.

He would follow up his strike agitation. He had already put Foley into opposition to a demand for more money. If he could induce the union to make the demand in the face of Foley's opposition it would be a telling victory over the walking delegate. Perhaps, even, he might head the management of the strike – if it came to a strike. And if the strike were won, it would be the complete undoing of Foley. As for Maggie, she would oppose the plan, of course, but once he had succeeded she would approve what he had done. In the meantime he would have to work at some poorly paid labor, and appease her as best he could.

At dinner that night little was said, till Maggie asked with a choking effort: "Did you see Foley to-day?"

"No," said Tom. He ate a mouthful, then laid down knife and fork, and looked firmly into her face. "I didn't try to see him. And I might as well tell you, Maggie, that I'm not going to see him."

"You'll not see him?" she asked in a dry voice. "You'll not see him?"

"Most likely it would not do any good if I did see him. You mark what I say, Maggie," he went on, hopefully. "Foley thinks I'm down, and you do, too, but in a few months things'll be better than they ever were. We may see some hard times – but in the end!"

"You were just that certain last week. But how'll we live?"

"I'll find some sort of a temporary job."

She looked at him tensely; then she rose abruptly and carried her indignant grief into the kitchen. She had decided that he must be borne with. But would he never, never come to his senses!

After he had finished his dinner, which had been ready earlier than usual, Tom hurried to the Barrys', and found the family just leaving the table. He rapidly sketched his new plan.

"You're runnin' again' Foley again in six months is all right, but where's the use our tryin' to get more money?" grumbled Pete. "Suppose we fight hard an' win the strike. What then? We get nothin' out of it. Foley won't let us work."

"Oh, talk like a man, Pete!" requested Mrs. Barry. "You know you don't think that way."

"If we win the strike, with Foley against it, it'll be the end of him," said Tom, in answer to Pete.

"But suppose things turn out with Foley in control o' the strike?" questioned Barry.

"That won't happen. But if it would, he'd run it all on the square. And he'd manage it well, too. You know what he has done. Well, he'd do the same again if he was forced into a fight.

"It won't be hard to work the men up to make the demand for an increase," Tom went on. "All the men who voted for me are in favor of it, and a lot more, too. All we've got to do is to stir them up a bit, and get word to them to come out on a certain night. Foley'll hardly dare put up a fight against us in the open."

"Whoever runs the strike, we certainly ought to have more money," said Mrs. Barry decidedly.

"And the bosses can afford to give us more," declared Tom. "They've never made more than they have the last two years."

"Sure, they could divide a lot o' the money we've made with us, an' still not have to button up their own clothes," averred Mrs. Barry.

"Oh, I dunno," said Pete. "They're hard up, just the same as us. What's a hundred thousand when you've got to spend money on yachts, champagne an' Newport, an' other necessities o' life? The last time I was at the Baxters', Mrs. Baxter was settin' at the kitchen table figgerin' how she could make over the new dress she had last summer an' wonderin' how she'd ever pay the gas bill."

Mrs. Barry grunted.

"I got a picture o' her!"

Tom brought the talk back to bear directly upon his scheme, and soon after left, accompanied by Pete, to begin immediately his new campaign.

As soon as they had gone Mrs. Barry turned eagerly to her husband. "If we get that ten per cent. raise, Henry won't have to go to work when he's fourteen like we expected."

"Yes. I was thinkin' o' that."

"An' we could keep him in school mebbe till he's eighteen. Then he could get a place in some office or business. By that time Annie'll be old enough to go to normal college. She can go through there and learn to be a teacher."

"An' mebbe I can get you some good clothes, like I've always wanted to."

"Oh, you! D'you think you can buy everything with seventy dollars!" She leaned over with glowing eyes and kissed him.

Rapid work was required by the new campaign, for Tom had settled upon the first meeting in April as the time when he would have the demand for more wages put to a vote. The new campaign, however, would be much easier than the one that had just come to so disastrous an ending. As he had said, the men were already eager to make the demand for more money; his work was to unite this sentiment into a movement, and to urge upon the men that they be out to vote on the first Wednesday in April.

Tom's first step was to enlist the assistance of the nine other men who had helped him in his fight against Foley. He found that the vengeance of the walking delegate had been swift; seven had abruptly lost their jobs. When he had explained his new plan, eight of the nine were with him. The spirit of the ninth was gone.

"I've had enough," he said bitterly. "If I hadn't mixed in with you, I'd be all right now." Upon this man Tom promptly turned his back. He was an excellent ally to be without.

Tom, with Pete, Barry, and his eight other helpers, began regularly to put in each evening in calling upon the members of the union. Every man they saw was asked to talk to others. And so the word spread and spread.

And to Foley it came among the first. Jake Henderson heard it whispered about the St. Etienne Hotel Saturday, and when the day's work was done he hurried straight to Foley's home in order to be certain of catching Buck when he came in to dinner. He had to wait half an hour, but that time was not unpleasantly spent, inasmuch as Mrs. Foley set forth a bottle of beer.

When Foley caught the tenor of Jake's story his face darkened and he let out an oath. But immediately thereafter he caught hold of his excitement. While Jake talked Foley's mind worked rapidly. He did not want a strike for three sufficient reasons. First of all, that the move was being fathered by Tom was enough to make him its opponent. Secondly, he had absolutely nothing to gain from a strike; his power was great, and even a successful strike could not add to it. And last, he would lose financially by it; his arrangement with Baxter and one or two other contractors would come to an end, and in the management of a general strike so many persons were involved that he would have no chance to levy tribute.

Before Jake had finished his rather long-winded account Foley cut him short. "Yes. I'm glad youse come in. I was goin' to send for youse to-night about this very thing."

"What! Youse knew all about it already?"

Foley looked surprise at him. "D'youse think I do nothin' but sleep?"

"Nobody can't tell youse anything," said Jake admiringly. "Youse're right up to the minute."

"Some folks find me a little ahead." He pulled at his cigar. "I got a little work for youse an' your bunch."

Jake sprang up excitedly. "Not Keating?"

"If youse could guess that well at the races youse'd always pick the winner. This business's got to stop, an' I guess that's the easiest way to stop it." And, Foley might have added, the only way.

"He ought to've had it long ago," said Jake, with conviction.

"He'll enjoy it all the more for havin' to wait for it." He stood up, and Jake, accepting his dismissal, took his hat. "Youse have a few o' the boys around to-night, an' I'll show up about ten. Four or five ought to be enough – say Arkansas, Smoky, Kaffir Bill, and Hickey."

Foley saw Connelly and two or three other members of his cabinet during the evening, and gave orders that the word was to go forth among his followers that he was against Keating's agitation; he knew the inside facts of present conditions, and knew there was no chance of winning a strike. At ten o'clock he sauntered into the rear room of Mulligan's saloon. Five men were playing poker. With the exception of one they were a group to make an honest man fall to his knees and quickly confess his sins. Such a guileless face had the one that the honest man would have been content with him as confessor. In past days the five had worked a little, each in his own part of the world, and not liking work had procured their living in more congenial ways; and on landing in New York, in the course of their wanderings, they had been gathered in by Foley as suited to his purpose.

"Hello, Buck!" they called out at sight of Foley.

"Hello, gents," he answered. He locked the door with a private key, and kicked a chair up to the table.

"Say, Buck, I got a thirst like a barrel o' lime," remarked he of the guileless face, commonly known as Arkansas Number Two. "D'you know anything good for it?"

"The amount o' money I spend in a year on other men's drinks'd support a church," Foley answered. But he ordered a quart of whisky and glasses. "Now let's get to business," he said, when they had been placed on the table. "I guess youse've got an idea in your nuts as to what's doin'?"

"Jake put us next," grinned Kaffir Bill. "Keating."

"Yes. He's over-exertin' his throat. He's likely to spoil his voice, if we don't sorter step in an' stop him."

"But Jake didn't tell us how much youse wanted him to have," said Kaffir Bill. "Stiff?"

"Not much. Don't youse remember when youse made an undertaker's job out o' Fleischmann? An' how near youse come to takin' the trip to Sing Sing? We don't want any more risks o' that sort. Leave your guns at home." Foley gulped down the raw whisky. "A couple months' vacation'd be about right for Keating. It'd give him a chance to get acquainted with his wife."

He drew out a cigar and fitted it to one corner of his mouth. "He's left handed, youse know. An' anyhow he works mostly with his mouth."

"An' he's purty chesty," said Jake, following up Foley's cue with a grin.

"That's the idea," said Foley. "A wing, an' say two or three slats. Or a leg."

The five understood and pledged the faithful discharge of their trust in a round of drinks.

"But what's in it for us?" asked Arkansas Number Two.

"It's an easy job. Youse get him in a fight, he goes down; youse do the business with your feet. Say ten apiece. That's plenty."

"Is that all it's worth to you?" Arkansas asked cunningly.

"Make it twenty-five, Buck," petitioned Kaffir Bill. "We need the coin. What's seventy-five more to youse?"

The other four joined in the request.

"Well, if I don't I s'pose every son-of-a-gun o' youse'll strike," said Foley, assuming the air of a defeated employer. "All right – for this once. But this ain't to be the regular union rate."

"You're all to the good, Buck!" the five shouted.

Foley rose and started out. At the door he paused. "Youse can't ask me for the coin any too soon," he said meaningly.

The five held divergent opinions upon many subjects, but upon one point they were as one mind – esteem for the bottle. So when Buck's quart of whisky was exhausted they unanimously decided to remove themselves to Potomac Hall, in whose bar-room there usually could be found someone that, after a dark glance or two, was delighted to set out the drinks.

They quickly found a benefactor in the person of Johnson, also a devotee of the bottle. They were disposing of the third round of drinks when Pete, who had been attending a meeting of the Membership Committee of the union, passed through the bar-room on his way out. Jake saw him, and, three parts drunk, could not resist the opportunity for advance satisfaction. "Hold on, Pig Iron," he called after him.

Pete stopped, and Jake walked leeringly up to him. "This here – " the best Jake could do in the way of profanity, "Keating is goin' to get what's comin' to him!" Jake ended with a few more selections from his repertoire of swear-words.

Pete retorted in kind, imperatively informing Jake that he knew where he could go, and walked away. Pete recognized the full meaning of Jake's words; and a half hour later he was knocking on Tom's door. He found a tall, raw-boned man sitting in one of Tom's chairs. Maggie had gone to bed.

"Shake hands with Mr. Petersen, Pete," said Tom sleepily. "He's just come into the union."

"Glad to know you," said Pete, and offered a hand to the Swede, who took it without a word. He turned immediately about on Tom. "I guess you're in for your thumps, Tom." And he told about his meeting with the five members of the entertainment committee.

"I expected 'em before the election. Well, I'll be ready for 'em," Tom said grimly.

A light had begun to glow in Petersen's heavy eyes as Pete talked. He now spoke for the first time since Pete had come in. "Vot day do?" he asked.

Pete explained in pantomine, thrusting rapid fists close to various parts of Petersen's face. "About five men on you at once."

Petersen grunted.

When Pete left, the Swede remained in his chair with anxiety showing through his natural stolidity. Tom gave a helpless glance at him, and followed Pete out into the hall.

"For God's sake, Pete, help me out!" Tom said in a whisper. "He's the fellow I helped get into the union. I told you about him, you know. He came around to-night to tell me he's got a job. When I came in at half past ten he'd been here half an hour already. It's eleven-thirty now. And he ain't said ten words. I want to go to bed, but confound him, he don't know how to leave!"

Pete opened the door. "Say, Petersen, ain't you goin' my way? Come on, we'll go together."

Petersen rose with obvious relief. He shook hands with Tom in awkward silence, and together he and Pete went down the stairs.

Monday morning Tom bought the first revolver he had ever possessed. If he had had any doubt as to the correctness of Pete's news, that doubt would not have been long with him. During the morning, as he went about looking for a job, he twice caught a glimpse of three members of the entertainment committee watching him from the distance; and he knew they were waiting a safe chance to close in upon him. The revolver in his inner vest pocket pressed a welcome assurance against his ribs.

That night when he came down from dinner to carry his new plan from ear to ear, he found Petersen, hands in his overcoat pockets, standing patiently without the doorway of the tenement.

"Hello, Petersen," he said in surprise.

"Hello," said Petersen.

Tom wanted no repetition of his experience of Saturday night. "Got a lot of work to do to-night," he said hurriedly. "So-long."

He started away. The Swede, with no further words, fell into step beside him. For several blocks they walked in silence, then Tom came to a pause before a tenement in which lived a member of the union.

"Good-by, Petersen," he said.

"Goo'-by," said Petersen.

They shook hands.

When Tom came into the street ten minutes later there was Petersen standing just where he had left him. Again the Swede fell into step. Tom, though embarrassed and irritated by the man's silent, persistent company, held back his words.

At the second stop Tom said shortly: "I'll be here a long while. You needn't wait."

But when he came down from the call, which he had purposely extended, Petersen was waiting beside the steps. This was too much for Tom. "Where are you going?" he demanded.

"'Long you," the Swede answered slowly.

"I don't know's I need you," Tom returned shortly, and started away.

For half a dozen paces there was no sound but his own heel-clicks. Then he heard the heel-clicks of the Swede. He turned about in exasperation. "See here! What's your idea in following me around like this?"

Petersen shifted his feet uncomfortably. "De man, last night, he say – " He finished by placing his bony fists successively on either side of his jaw. "I tank maybe I be 'long, I be some good."

A light broke in on Tom. And he thought of the photograph on Petersen's leprous wall. He shoved out his hand. "Put it there, Petersen!" he said.

And all that evening Tom's silent companion marched through the streets beside him.