where she had received nearly
seven dollars a week. She had been among the first to walk out.

"Why did you walk out?" asked Janet curiously.

"Why? I get mad when I know that my wages is cut. I want the money--I
get married."

"Is that why you are striking?" asked Janet curiously.

"That is why--of course."

"Then you haven't heard any of the speakers? They say it is for a
cause--the workers are striking for freedom, some day they will own the
mills. I heard a man named Rolfe yesterday--"

The girl gave her a radiant smile.

"Rolfe! It is beautiful, what Rolfe said. You think so? I think so. I am
for the cause, I hate the capitalist. We will win, and get more money,
until we have all the money. We will be rich. And you, why do you
strike?"

"I was mad, too," Janet replied simply.

"Revenge!" exclaimed the girl, glittering again. "I understan'. Here
come the scabs! Now I show you."

The light had grown, but the stores were still closed and barred. Along
Faber Street, singly or in little groups, anxiously glancing around
them, behind them, came the workers who still clung desperately to
their jobs. Gemma fairly darted at two girls who sought the edge of the
sidewalk, seizing them by the sleeves, and with piteous expressions they
listened while she poured forth on them a stream of Italian. After a
moment one tore herself away, but the other remained and began to ask
questions. Presently she turned and walked slowly away in the direction
from which she had come.

"I get her," exclaimed Gemma, triumphantly.

"What did you say?" asked Janet.

"Listen--that she take the bread from our mouths, she is
traditore--scab. We strike for them, too, is it not so?"

"It is no use for them to work for wages that starve. We win the strike,
we get good wages for all. Here comes another--she is a Jewess--you try,
you spik."

Janet failed with the Jewess, who obstinately refused to listen or reply
as the two walked along with her, one on either side. Near West
Street they spied a policeman, and desisted. Up and down Faber Street,
everywhere, the game went on: but the police were watchful, and once a
detachment of militia passed. The picketing had to be done quickly,
in the few minutes that were to elapse before the gates should close.
Janet's blood ran faster, she grew excited, absorbed, bolder as she
perceived the apologetic attitude of the "scabs" and she began to
despise them with Gemma's heartiness; and soon she had