e haughtily than ever before.

One day he remembered Spiele's hint to inquire about the organization.
Hoeflinger, who had considered it premature to speak of it or take him
there, glanced at him in surprise and silently turned back to the idol.
But in the next working pause he told Pratteler that he could go with
him to a meeting that night, if he cared. Victor went along. They
entered a large hall, the walls of which were hung with all sorts of
pictures, trophies and wreaths. It was the home of two singing
societies, a brass band and a dramatic club, each having reserved one
wall for its photographs and testimonials. Now workingmen were sitting
around the same tables. Under the shining loving cups, wreaths, bows
and flags their colorless gray or brown clothes reflected the want and
stress of their existence like a spiritless sea. Victor's eye took in
at once the contrast between the childish trash of the privileged class
that covered the walls and the seriously contained, yet deeply gnawing
consciousness of belonging to the disowned that slumbered in the men
who now sat in the bourgeois atmosphere of the hall.

Hoeflinger took his place at the table of the executive committee.
Pratteler was surprised to learn that the spirit of revolt had been
haunting the iron-works for some months past. A big strike was being
planned in order to rebel against decades of oppression and prepare the
foundations for a better future. Pratteler was confused. He could not
understand why he had not met this spirit in any of his noon hour
ramblings. He could not conceive that everybody should then take a nap,
return to his machine when the siren blew, draw himself in when the
idol wheezed or one of its servants passed. An elderly workingman got
up on a chair and reported how far preparations had gone and how large
the strike fund had grown; he also mentioned what organizations had
declared their solidarity and their readiness to give aid.

Victor was interested in everything that referred to the strike, but
could not approve the circuitous preparations and all the secret
machinations with which the attack upon the monster was planned,
instead of seizing it simply by the horns, as he thought they had the
power to do. When the old man stepped down and some others had spoken,
he could hardly restrain himself. He felt too closely hedged in in this
gingerly movement of the mass. He swallowed nervously and clutched and
tugged at his collar; he gu