excitement, expectation, and that sharp feeling of human crisis. Joe
could feel the circle of human nature fighting about him. He leaned
forward, strangely shaken.

Izon had arisen, and was trying to speak. The dark, handsome young man
was gesturing eloquently. His voice poured like a fire, swept the crowd,
and he reached them with their own language.

"Comrades! Comrades! Comrades!" and then his voice rose and stilled the
tumult, and all leaned forward, hanging on his words. "You must"--he was
appealing to them with arms outstretched--"you must! You will strike;
you will not be cowards! Not for yourselves, O comrades, but for your
children--_your children_! Do I not know you? Do I not know how you toil
and slave and go hungry and wear out your bodies and souls? Have I not
toiled with you? Have I not shared your struggles and your pain? Do I
not know that you are doing all, all for your children--that the little
ones may grow up to a better life than yours--that your little ones may
be happier, and healthier, and richer, and finer? Have I not seen it a
thousand times? But what sort of a world will your children find when
they grow up if you do not fight these battles for them? If you let the
bosses enslave you--if you are cowards and slaves--will not your
children be slaves? Oh, we that belong to Israel, have we not fought for
freedom these bloody thousand years? Are we to cease now? Can't you see?
Can't you open your hearts and minds?" His voice came with a passionate
sob. "Won't you see that this is a fight for the future--a fight for all
who work for wages--a fight for freedom? Not care for the cloak-makers?
They are your brothers. Care for them, lest the day come when you are
uncared for! Strike! You must--you _must_! Strike, comrades! We will
hang by each other! We will suffer together! And it will not be the
first time! No, not the first time--or the last!"

He sank exhausted on his chair, crumpled up. Sweat was running down his
white face. There was a moment's hush--snuffling, and a few coarse
sobs--and then a young man arose, and spoke in trembling voice:

"I move--we send Jacob Izon to-morrow to our boss--and tell him--either
no cloaks, or--we strike!"

"Second! Second!"

Joe put the motion.

"All in favor, say aye."

There was a wild shout of ayes. The motion was carried. Then the air
was charged with excitement, with fiery talk, with denunciation and
ardor.

"Now we're in for it!" said Joe, as the