well, so well--he get fat, b'gosh, so fat, Meester O'Day, he look like
pole he come long Meester Hobart, b'gosh."

Joe nodded his head vigorously, a habit he had of emphasizing any
statement he wished to make particularly strong. Elizabeth could not
restrain a smile at the comparison.

"Is mother well, too, Joe?" Joe nodded vigorously while he wiped his
brow.

"She well like the tivil, b'gosh. Yes, b'gosh, she so well as that."

"Well, then, Joe, why is it they do not wish me to go home?"

Joe flung out his hand as though what he was about to say was a mere
trifle, not worthy her consideration.

"The miner--not so glad, b'gosh. They no work--no--no work. They say they
tear up railroad, b'gosh. Meester Hobart, he say, 'No tear up road.' Joe
Ratowsky, he say, 'No tear up road.' All time keep watch so no tear up
road. You not come. Mebbe no road, mebbe all right, b'gosh."

"A strike, Joe? Do you mean the miners threaten to destroy the road?" He
nodded.

"No strike now, b'gosh. Colowski, he say, 'Strike.' Then all say,
'Strike.' Joe Ratowsky, he give him one between his eyes like this." He
doubled up his fist, showing how peace had been restored. "He no say
strike then. He crawl off. He no come round for day and day."

"Did they go back to work then?" Elizabeth was excited. All her life she
had heard of the horrors of a prolonged strike. From childhood she had a
dim recollection of someone taking her from her warm bed, and running
across fields, seeking safety miles away. As in a dream, she could hear
the roar of hoarse voices and see the flickering torches of the mob.

Joe shook his head slowly. "No, b'gosh. They mad like the tivil. They go
back some day, so many tollars, every day for work. No more," shaking his
head in negation, "No, no more, b'gosh."

Elizabeth grew anxious. She seized Mr. Ratowsky's coat sleeve.

"But, Joe, tell me truly, is my father in danger? They won't hurt him?"

"B'gosh, no. He safe like anything. They no mad like the tivil at him.
Emery they mad at."

"Is Mr. Emery there?" Again Joe shook his head. "Meester Emery, he go over
ocean. He no come back, mebbe so long till summer. When he come back, the
miners so mad they treat him like the tivil, b'gosh."

This Mr. Emery, of whom he spoke, was one of the operators of the
soft-coal region; a man who visited the miners once in a dozen years and
of whom his workmen knew little.

Joe had evidently been instructed how much to tell Eliz