room was emptied, and the
aroused groups trudged east on the crunching snow.

And so it was. Next morning, when Theodore Marrin made the rounds of the
vast loft where two hundred girls and forty-five men were busily
working--the machines racing--the air pulsing with noise--Jacob Izon
arose, trembling, and confronted him.

"Well, Jacob!"

"I want to tell you something."

"Go ahead."

"The men have asked me to ask you not to have us make the cloaks."

Marrin's red face seemed to grow redder.

"So, that's it!" he snapped. "Well, here's my answer. Go back to your
work!"

The men had stopped working and were listening. The air was electric,
ominous.

Izon spoke tremblingly.

"I am very sorry then. I must announce that the men have struck!"

Marrin glared at him.

"Very well! And get out--quick!"

He turned and walked away, flaming with rage. The men quickly put their
work away, got their hats and coats, and followed Izon. When they
reached the street--a strange spectacle on flashing, brilliant Fifth
Avenue--Izon suggested that they go down to Tenth Street, for they stood
about like a lot of lost sheep.

"No," cried one of the men, "we've had enough of Tenth Street. There's a
hall we can use right over on Eighteenth Street. Come on."

The rest followed. Izon reported to Joe, and Joe asked:

"Do you think they'll fight it out?"

"I don't know!" Izon shrugged his shoulders.

This doubt was justifiable, for he soon found that he was leading a
forlorn hope. As morning after morning the men assembled in the dark
meeting-room behind a saloon, and sat about in their overcoats
complaining and whining, quoting their wives and relatives, more and
more they grew disconsolate and discouraged. There were murmurs of
rebellion, words of antagonism. Finally on the fifth morning a messenger
arrived with a letter. Izon took it.

"It's from Marrin," he murmured.

"Read it! Read it out loud!"

He opened it and read:

TO MY MEN,--I have thought matters over. I do not like to sever
connections with men who have been so long in my employ. If you return
to work this morning, you may go on at the old salaries, and we will
consider the matter closed. If, however, you listen to advice calculated
to ruin your future, and do not return, please remember that I will not
be responsible. I shall then secure new men, and your places will be
occupied by others.

Yours faithfully,

THEODORE MARRIN.

_P.S.