ee, who turned to face him.

"Well, boys," he exclaimed briskly, "have you decided?" The men nodded
without speaking. "Well?"

"I'll do the talking," Ferguson said, holding up a hand to check
Schmidt. "We've decided, Mr. Hamilton. We're going to strike. We'll make
you come to terms, or we'll bust you if we can."

Hamilton's face hardened, and he squared his shoulders.

"I suppose you know what you're up against?" he questioned harshly.

"Yes, we've just found out," Ferguson retorted, with gusty rage. "We'd
been thinking that you were on the level--you and your wife, too. We
swallowed that funny story of your being crushed by the trust. Oh, we
were suckers, all right. We were suckers for fair! We were going to
fall for it. We were going take your cut. And then your wife brings our
wives and daughters here, pretending she's going to put them in her
club--brings them here to make a laugh for Morton and Carrington's
wives. Yes, Morton and Carrington, the very men you say are crushing
you, your enemies! Oh, your enemies are all right! Do you think we are
fools? No, to hell with you!" The furious man's voice rose to a shriek
with the last words. He whirled, and made for the door, and the other
two followed him.

[Illustration]

"One minute," Hamilton called. "You needn't go back to the works. We
close down in ten minutes. Come back to see me when you are hungry." He
stood motionless as the men passed silently out, and until he heard the
sound of the street-door closing behind them. Then, he turned to Cicily,
who had waited pallid and shaken, her eyes downcast, her hands clasped
distressedly. His voice, as he spoke, was not softened; even, it was
harder than before. "You see what you have done," he said simply. "This
settles it. I'm going into a big fight. I can't be handicapped. For the
future, you will stay where you belong. You will confine your
activities to the house, where they will be less dangerous, let us
hope--less fatal!" Without awaiting any reply, he wheeled, and strode
from the room.

CHAPTER XII

Cicily sent word of a severe headache, and did not appear at the
dinner-table that night, nor did she see her husband during the evening.
She retired to her bed-chamber at an early hour, but not to sleep.
Instead, she abandoned herself to torturing reflections on the
malevolent predicament into which she had been brought. She did not
attempt to disguise from herself the hideous fact that her own
prec