chorused

Joe spoke clearly.

"Your Honor, there's another witness."

The magistrate looked at Joe keenly.

"Who are you?"

"My name's Blaine--Joe Blaine."

"The editor?"

"Yes."

The magistrate spoke sharply:

"I can tell you now you'll merely damage the case. I don't take the word
of such a witness."

Joe spoke easily.

"It's not my word. Miss Craig here is the witness. She saw the assault."

The magistrate looked at Myra.

"What were you doing at the time?"

Myra spoke hardly above a whisper, for she felt that she was losing
control of herself.

"I--I was walking with Miss Hemlitz."

"Walking? You mean picketing."

"Yes."

"Well, naturally, your word is not worth any more than the prisoner's.
You should have been arrested, too."

Myra could not speak any further; and the magistrate turned again to the
policeman.

"You swear your charge is true?"

The policeman raised his hand.

"I swear."

Rhona felt a stab as of lightning. She raised her hand high; her voice
came clear, sharp, real, rising above the drone-like noise of the court.

"I swear it is not true. I never struck him. _He_ struck me!"

The magistrate's face reddened, a vein on his forehead swelled up, and
he leaned toward Rhona.

"What you say, young lady"--there was a touch of passion in his
voice--"doesn't count. Understand? You're one of these strikers, aren't
you? Well, the whole lot of you"--his voice rose--"are on a strike
against God, whose principal law is that man should earn bread by the
sweat of his brow."

Rhona trembled before these unbelievable words. She stared into his
eyes, and he went on passionately:

"I've let some of you off with fines--but this has gone too far. I'll
make an example of you. You shall go to the workhouse on Blackwells
Island for five days. Next!"

Joe, too, was dazed. But he whispered to Rhona:

"Meet it bravely. I'll tell the girls!"

Her arm was grasped, she was pushed, without volition, through crowding
faces; and at length, after another ride in the patrol wagon, she found
herself on a narrow cot in a narrow cell. The door was slammed shut
ominously. Dim light entered through a high aperture.

She flung herself down her whole length, and sobbed. Bitter was life for
Rhona Hemlitz, seventeen years old....

* * * * *

Joe, in the court-room, had seized Myra's arm.

"Let us get out of this!"

They went through the gateway, up the aisle, out