ve him
alone. It's hideous enough--God knows. But if I ever tackle poverty and
labor and that sort of thing it'll be along quite different lines."

The door-bell rang.

"Oh Billy," she said, "I forgot to tell you. Father's coming to dinner
to-night." I looked at her a moment:

"Did you ask him here on my account?" Eleanore smiled frankly.

"Yes--I thought I might need him," she said.

I did not talk to her father of Joe--his plans for a strike were his
secret, not mine. But with Eleanore pushing me on, I described the hell
I had seen in the stokehole.

"You're right, it's hell," her father agreed. "But in time we'll do away
with it."

"I knew it," Eleanore put in.

"How?" I asked.

"By using oil instead of coal. Or if we can't get oil cheap enough by
automatic stokers--machines to do the work of men."

I thought hard and fast for a moment, and suddenly I realized that I had
never given any real thought to matters of this kind before.

"Then what will become of the stokers?" I asked him.

"One thing at a time." I caught Dillon keenly watching me over his
cigar. "Don't give up your faith in efficiency, Bill. If they'll only
give us time enough we'll be able to do so much for men."

There was something so big and sincere in his voice and in his clear and
kindly eyes.

"I'm sure you will," I answered. "If you don't, there's nobody else who
can."

In a week or two, by grinding steadily on at my work and by a few more
quiet talks with Eleanore and her father, I could feel myself safely
back on my ground.

* * * * *

But one morning Sue broke in on me.

"I've just heard from a friend of Joe Kramer's," she said, "that he is
dangerously ill. And there's no one to look after him. Hadn't you better
go yourself?"

"Of course," I assented gruffly. "I'll go down at once."

It seemed as though the Fates and Sue were in league to keep Joe in my
life.

I went to Joe's office and found the address of the room where he slept.
It was over a German saloon close by. It was a large, low-ceilinged
room, bare and cheaply furnished, with dirty curtains at the windows,
dirty collars and shirts on the floor. It was cold. In the high
old-fashioned fireplace the coal fire had gone out. Joe was lying
dressed on the bed. He jumped up as I entered and came to me with his
face flushed and his eyes dilated. He gripped my hand.

"Why, hello, Kid," he cried. "Glad to see you!" And then with a qui