pidly
away. The police were now making wholesale arrests. That deep strident
roar of the crowd had died down and broken into panting voices,
everywhere were struggling forms.

Just before me the throng opened and I saw a woman at my feet. Her face
was bleeding from a club. As I stooped to lift her, I felt a big hand
grip my arm and then a heavy, crushing weight press down upon my head. I
felt myself sink down and down into an empty darkness.

When I came to, I was being half pushed and half thrown by police up
into one of their wagons. I remember a blurred glimpse of more fighting
forms around me. Then a gong clanged and our wagon was off. And in a few
moments we had emerged out of all this turbulence into the quiet
commonplace streets of a city of every-day business life.

In the wagon a voice began singing. I looked up and saw our Italian
musician, the leader of those gay excursions on _The Internationale_.
Now he was singing the song of that name. And as all came in on the
chorus, I caught a glimpse of his face. One cheek was bleeding profusely
and with one hand he was keeping the blood from trickling down. With
the other hand he was beating time. And his black eyes were blazing.

Soon after, we came to Jefferson Market and stopped at the entrance of
the jail. As we were hustled out of the wagon, and in the stronger light
our cuts and swelling bruises came suddenly in view, two young girls
among us began to laugh hysterically. In a moment we were inside the
jail and shoved into a striker group that had come in wagons ahead of
ours. A grim old sergeant at the desk was taking down names and
addresses and sending the prisoners to their cells.

I found my cell a cool relief after all that fever of cries. With
surprise I noticed it was clean. I had thought all cells were filthy
holes. Still in a daze, I sat down on my cot and felt the big bruise on
my head.

"Where am I? What has happened? What has all this to do with me? What is
it going to mean in my life?"

I heard a nasal voice from somewhere say:

"I know this pen. They're putting the girls with the prostitutes."

I heard clanging gongs outside and soon the banging of steel doors as
more prisoners were put into cells. And little by little, through it
all, I made out a low, eager murmur.

"Say," inquired a drunken old voice. "Who are all you damn fools? What
is this party, anyhow?"

"It is a revolution!" a sharp little voice replied. And at that, from
al