was desolate and gray. The
blood was pulsing in Myra's temples, her heart leaped, her breath
panted. And as she hesitated a girl passed her, a girl about whose
breast was bound a placard whereon were the words:

JOIN THE STRIKE
OF THE THIRTY THOUSAND

What strike? What did it mean? Was Joe in a strike? She thought he had
been editing a paper. She had better not intrude. She turned, as if to
fly, and yet hesitated. Her feet refused to go; her heart was
rebellious. Only a wall divided him from her. Why should she not see
him? Why not a moment's conversation? Then she would go and leave him to
his work.

Another girl passed her and paused--a girl also placarded, a girl with a
strange beauty, somewhat tall, with form well rounded, with pale face
full of the fascination of burning eagerness. This girl's eyes were a
clear blue, her lips set tight, and her light-brown hair blew
beautifully about her cheeks. She was, however, but thinly clothed, and
her frail little coat was short and threadbare.

She spoke to Myra--a rich, sympathetic voice.

"Are you looking for Mr. Blaine?"

"Yes--" said Myra, almost gasping. "Is he in?"

"He's always in!" The girl smiled.

"There's nothing the matter?"

"With him? No! But come, come out of the cold!"

There was nothing to do but follow. The girl opened a door and they
entered the office. It was crowded with girls and women and men. Long
benches were about the wall, camp-stools filled the floor. Many were
seated; on two of the benches worn-out men were fast asleep, and between
the seats groups of girls were talking excitedly. Several lights burned
in the darkening room, and Myra saw swiftly the strange types--there
were Jewish girls, Italian girls, Americans, in all sorts of garbs, some
very flashy with their "rat"-filled hair, their pompadours, their
well-cut clothes, others almost in rags; some tall, some short, some
rosy-cheeked, many frail and weak and white. At a table in the rear
Giotto was receiving money from Italians and handing out union cards. He
looked as if he hadn't slept for nights.

Myra was confused. She felt strangely "out" of all this; strangely, as
if she were intruding. The smell of the place offended her, especially
as it was mixed with cheap perfumes; and the coarse slangy speech that
flashed about jarred on her ear. But at the same time she was
suffocating with suspense.

"Where is he?" she murmured--they were standing r