. Elbows and fists appeared and disappeared. A
low, mocking crackle, tinkle and knocking followed the first movements.
A dull roar slowly swallowed it all. The belts were whizzing and
swaying. Once more the machines were masters.

Hoeflinger looked surprised at Victor who was still sitting on the iron
step, his fists on his knees. "Well, Pratteler, are you going to look
on today?" he asked with a halfhearted smile. Victor started. With a
bewildered look he braced up, threw back his shoulders and went to
work. The strike committee had sent guards and watchmen to prevent
sabotage and everything seemed to be quiet. Hoeflinger had just received
their report and was pleased. "We have quietly put a stop to the tricks
of those good-for-nothings," said he to Victor. "The machines run as
smoothly as ever." The blood mounted to Victor's face. He had only
heard the word "good-for-nothing" and mechanically interpreted its
meaning; he was sadly experienced in that sort of thing. He felt
sneered at and betrayed all around, and his temper rising, conjured
the spirit of revenge. Again before his inner vision he saw the
claw rise from the ground; he waited with bent head until it really
appeared. Then with three hurried steps he approached Hoeflinger.
Looking aside as if by accident, he pushed against the claw and
the revolving disk, and waited, blind with excitement, to see what
would happen. Six--eight--twelve heartbeats: finally, hearing no
outcry, he looked around. One hand on the railing of the stairs,
Hoeflinger stood, his eyes turned toward him and scanning him with a
troubled look, as the other day on the street. "Something seems to be
wrong behind there after all," cried Victor his voice pitched too high
and shaking with fear. "They are standing about a machine and
consulting." That was true. Hoeflinger looked in that direction. He
resumed his reticent mien and bit his lip. Then he went up the iron
stairs to the gallery and staid a long time.

With senseless regularity, without soul or breath, the iron sphinxes
turned their hardened limbs. They stretched up their shining fists and
chased the connecting-shafts until they whined and moaned. Cold and
haughty glowed the metal. The belts were flying without purpose or
restraint. Periodically an explosion was heard. The idol stood in the
steady fire of the torrent of sparks that shot from between its teeth.
The iron screamed. Pale and unreal the day looked in through the high
windo