Sally
had easy access to Joe.

The girl at her side was speaking again.

"You've no idea what this strike means. There's some rich women
interested in it--they work right with us, hold mass-meetings, march in
the streets--they're wonderful. And some of the big labor-leaders and
even some of the big lawyers are helping. There's one big lawyer been
giving all his time. You see, we're having trouble with the police."

"Yes, I see," said Myra, though she didn't see at all, and neither did
she care. It seemed to her that she could not wait another instant. She
must either go, or step over to his desk.

"Is he still so busy?" she asked.

"Yes, he is," said the girl. "Do you know him personally?"

Myra laughed softly.

"A little."

"Then you heard how he was hurt?"

"_Hurt_!" gasped Myra. Her heart seemed to grow small, and it was
pierced by a sharp needle of pain.

"Yes, there was a riot here--the men came in and smashed everything."

"And Mr. Blaine? _Tell me_!" The words came in a blurt.

"Had his arm broken and his head was all bloody."

Myra felt dizzy, faint.

"But he's--better?"

"Oh, he's all right now."

"When did this happen?"

"About six weeks ago!"

Six weeks! That was shortly after the last letter came. Myra was
suffering agony, and her face went very pale.

"How did it happen?" she breathed.

"Oh, he called some strikers traitors, and they came down and broke in.
It's lucky he wasn't killed."

He had suffered, he had been in peril of his life, while she was resting
in the peace of the country. So this was a strike, and in this Joe was
concerned. She looked about the busy room; she noticed anew the sleeping
men and the toiling Giotto; and suddenly she was interested. She was
wrenched, as it were, from her world into his. She felt in the heart of
a great tragedy of life. And all the time she kept saying over and over
again:

"His arm was broken! his head bloody! and I wasn't here! I wasn't at his
side!"

And she had thought in her country isolation that life in the city
wasn't real. What a moment that must have been when Joe faced the
rioters--when they rushed upon him--when he might have been killed! And
instead of deterring him from his work, here he was in the thick of it,
braving, possibly, unspeakable dangers. Then, glancing about, it seemed
to her that these girls and men were a part of his drama; he gave them a
new reality. This was life, pulsing, immediate, tragic. She must g