class feel that they are overworked and underpa--er--that is, I mean the
lessons are too long."

Patty fetched a deep breath and started again.

"Eighty lines a day doesn't leave us any time for recreation, so we have
determined to join together and demand our rights. We occupy the
position of skilled laborers. You can get all the girls you want for
Caesar and beginning Latin, but you can't find anybody but us to read
Virgil. It's like the laundry trade. We are not just plain boilers and
starchers; we are fancy ironers. If you want to have a Virgil class, you
have _got_ to have us. You can't call in scab labor. Now, we aren't
trying to take advantage because of our superior strength. We are
perfectly willing to do an honest day's work, but we can't allow
ourselves to be--er--to be--"

Patty fumbled a moment for her word, but in the end she brought it out
triumphantly.

"We can't allow ourselves to be exploited. Singly, we are no match for
you, but together, we can dictate our own terms. Because two or three of
us can keep up the pace you set, is no reason why we should allow the
others to be overworked. It is our duty to stand by one another against
the encroachments of our employer. We women are not so advanced as men.
But we are learning. Upon the solidarity of labor depends the life of
Rosalie. In case you refuse to meet our demands, the Virgil class will
be obliged to go out on strike."

Patty pronounced her ultimatum, and leaned back with folded arms.

A moment of silence followed. Then Miss Lord spoke. The class went down
in hopeless, abject terror before the storm. Miss Lord's icy sarcasm
was, in moments of intensity, lightened by gleams of fire. She had Irish
ancestors and red hair. Patty alone listened with head erect and steely
eyes. The red blood of martyrs dyed her cheeks. She was fighting for a
CAUSE. Weak, helpless, little Rosalie, sniffling at her elbow, should be
saved--the cowardice of her comrades put to shame. She, single-handed,
would fight and win.

Miss Lord finally drew breath.

"The class is dismissed. Patty will remain in the schoolroom until she
has translated perfectly the last twenty lines. I will hear her read
them after luncheon."

The girls rose and pressed in a huddled body toward the hall, while
Patty turned into the empty schoolroom. On the threshold she paused to
hurl one contemptuous word over her shoulder:

"Scabs!"

* * * * *

The lunch