bbering aliens, excited, unfriendly,
curious, absorbed in their problem--an ill-kempt lot and quite unlovely.

At the center stove, a little way off from its red heart, sat Joe and
Sally and Izon. The men began to smoke cigarettes and little cigars, and
with the rank tobacco smell was mingled the sweaty human odor. The room
grew densely hot, and a window had to be thrown open. A vapor of smoke
filled the atmosphere, shot golden with the lights, and in the smoke the
many heads, bent this way and that, leaning forward or tilted up, showed
strange and a little unreal. Joe could see faces that fascinated him by
their vivid lines, their starting dark eyes and the white eye-balls,
their bulging noses and big mouths. Hands fluttered in lively gestures
and a storm of Yiddish words broke loose.

Joe arose, lifting his hand for silence. Men pulled each other by the
sleeve, and a strident "'Ssh!" ran round the room.

"Silence!" cried Joe. His voice came from the depths of his big chest,
and was masterful, ringing with determination.

An expectant hush followed. And then Joe spoke.

"I want to welcome you to this room. It belongs to you as much as to
anybody, for in this room is published a paper that works for your good.
But I not only want to welcome you: I want to ask your permission to
speak at this meeting."

There were cries of: "Speak! Go on! Say it!"

Joe went on. Behind his words was a menace.

"Then I want to say this to you. Your boss, Mr. Marrin, has done a
cowardly and treacherous thing. He has made scabs of you all. You are no
better than strike-breakers. If you do this work, if you make these
cloaks, you are traitors to your fellow-workers, the cloak-makers. You
are crippling other workmen. You are selling them to their bosses. But
I'm sure you won't stand for this. You are men enough to fight for the
cause of all working people. You belong to a race that has been
persecuted through the ages, a brave race, a race that has triumphed
through hunger and cold and massacres. You are great enough to make this
sacrifice. If this is so, I call on you to resist your boss, to refuse
to do his dirty work, and I ask you--if he persists in his orders--to
lay down your work and _strike_."

He sat down, and there was a miserable pause. He had not stirred them at
all, and felt his failure keenly. It was as if he had not reached over
the fence of race. He told himself he must school himself in the future,
must broaden out.