o to
him--she mustn't delay longer.

She took a few steps forward, and at almost the same moment the girls
about Joe left him, scattering about the room. Then she saw him. And
what a spectacle! He was in his shirt-sleeves, his hair was more tousled
than ever, and his face was gray--the most tragic face she had ever
seen--gray, sunken, melancholy, worn, as if he bore the burden of the
world. But in one hand he held a pen, and in the other--a ham sandwich.
It was a big sandwich, and every few moments he took a big bite, as he
scratched on. Myra's heart was wrung with love and pity, with remorse
and fondness, and mainly with the tragi-comedy of his face and the
sandwich.

She stood over him a moment, breathless, panting, her throat full of
blood, it seemed. Then she stooped a little and whispered:

"Joe."

He wheeled round; he looked up; his gray face seemed to grow grayer; his
lips parted--he was more than amazed. He was torn away, as it were, from
all business of life.

"Why," he said under his breath, "it's you, Myra!"

"Yes"--tears stood in her eyes--"it's I."

He surveyed her up and down, and then their eyes met. He ran his hand
through his hair.

"You--you--" he murmured. "And how well you look, how strong, how fresh!
Sit down! sit down!"

She took the seat, trembling. She leaned forward.

"But you--you are killing yourself, Joe."

He smiled sadly.

"It's serious business, Myra."

She gazed at him, and spoke hard.

"Is there no end to it? Aren't you going to rest, ever?"

"End? No end now. The strike must be won."

He was trying to pull himself together. He gave a short laugh; he sat
up.

"So you're back from the country."

"Yes, I'm back."

"To stay?"

"To stay."

"You're cured, then?"

"Yes," she smiled, "cured of many things. I like the city better than I
thought!"

He gave her a sharp look.

"So!" Then his voice came with utter weariness: "Well, the city's a
queer place, Myra. Things happen here."

Somehow she felt that he was standing her off. Something had crept in
between them, some barrier, some wall. He had already emerged from the
shock of the meeting. What if there were things in his life far more
important than this meeting? Myra tried to be brave.

"I just wanted to see you--see the place--see how things were getting
on."

Joe laughed softly.

"Things _are_ getting on. Circulation's up to fifteen thousand--due to
the strike."

"How so?"

"We got out a strike