futility of speech, of all attempts to arouse her mother to a realization
of the situation. Perhaps--though her heart contracted at the thought
perhaps it was a merciful thing! But to live, day after day, in the
presence of that comfortless apathy!... Later in the morning she went
out, to walk the streets, and again in the afternoon; and twice she
turned her face eastward, in the direction of the Franco-Belgian Hall.
Her courage failed her. How would these foreigners and the strange
leaders who had come to organize them receive her, Ditmar's stenographer?
She would have to tell them she was Ditmar's stenographer; they would
find it out. And now she was filled with doubts about Rolfe. Had he
really thought she could be of use to them! Around the Common, in front
of the City Hall men went about their affairs alertly, or stopped one
another to talk about the strike. In Faber Street, indeed, an air of
suppressed excitement prevailed, newsboys were shouting out extras; but
business went on as though nothing had happened to disturb it. There was,
however, the spectacle, unusual at this time of day, of operatives
mingling with the crowd, while policemen stood watchfully at the corners;
a company of soldiers marched by, drawing the people in silence to the
curb. Janet scanned the faces of these idle operatives; they seemed for
the most part either calm or sullen, wanting the fire and passion of the
enthusiasts who had come out to picket in the early hours of the day; she
sought vainly for the Italian girl with whom she had made friends.
Despondency grew in her, a sense of isolation, of lacking any one, now,
to whom she might turn, and these feelings were intensified by the air of
confidence prevailing here. The strike was crushed, injustice and wrong
had triumphed--would always triumph. In front of the Banner office she
heard a man say to an acquaintance who had evidently just arrived in
town:--"The Chippering? Sure, that's running. By to-morrow Ditmar'll
have a full force there. Now that the militia has come, I guess we've got
this thing scotched..."

Just how and when that order and confidence of Faber Street began to be
permeated by disquietude and alarm, Janet could not have said. Something
was happening, somewhere--or about to happen. An obscure, apparently
telepathic process was at work. People began to hurry westward, a few had
abandoned the sidewalk and were running; while other pedestrians, more
timid, were equally co