f 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 concerned to turn and hasten in the opposite
direction. At the corner of West S