he would
teach her, he would break her. He walked a long way without thinking,
and then waited for a car. None came, and he hailed a passing coupe.

"What has got all the cars?" he demanded of the driver, who jumped down
from his box to open the door for him and get his direction.

"Been away?" asked the driver. "Hasn't been any car along for a week.
Strike."

"Oh yes," said Dryfoos. He felt suddenly giddy, and he remained staring
at the driver after he had taken his seat.

The man asked, "Where to?"

Dryfoos could not think of his street or number, and he said, with
uncontrollable fury: "I told you once! Go up to West Eleventh, and drive
along slow on the south side; I'll show you the place."

He could not remember the number of 'Every Other Week' office, where
he suddenly decided to stop before he went home. He wished to see
Fulkerson, and ask him something about Beaton: whether he had been
about lately, and whether he had dropped any hint of what had happened
concerning Christine; Dryfoos believed that Fulkerson was in the
fellow's confidence.

There was nobody but Conrad in the counting-room, whither Dryfoos
returned after glancing into Fulkerson's empty office. "Where's
Fulkerson?" he asked, sitting down with his hat on.

"He went out a few moments ago," said Conrad, glancing at the clock.
"I'm afraid he isn't coming back again today, if you wanted to see him."

Dryfoos twisted his head sidewise and upward to indicate March's room.
"That other fellow out, too?"

"He went just before Mr. Fulkerson," answered Conrad.

"Do you generally knock off here in the middle of the afternoon?" asked
the old man.

"No," said Conrad, as patiently as if his father had not been there a
score of times and found the whole staff of "Every Other Week" at work
between four and five. "Mr. March, you know, always takes a good deal
of his work home with him, and I suppose Mr. Fulkerson went out so early
because there isn't much doing to-day. Perhaps it's the strike that
makes it dull."

"The strike-yes! It's a pretty piece of business to have everything
thrown out because a parcel of lazy hounds want a chance to lay off and
get drunk." Dryfoos seemed to think Conrad would make some answer
to this, but the young man's mild face merely saddened, and he said
nothing. "I've got a coupe out there now that I had to take because I
couldn't get a car. If I had my way I'd have a lot of those vagabonds
hung. They're waiting to get t