the basement gate from the inside and a new stream
poured in. The press-room filled--crowbars got to work--while men danced
and wildly laughed and exulted in their vandal work. Then suddenly arose
the cry of, "Police!" Tools dropped; the mob turned like a stampede of
cattle, crushed for the doors, cried out, caught in a trap, and ran into
the arms of blue-coated officers....

When Joe next opened his eyes and looked out with some surprise on the
same world that he was used to, he found himself stretched in his bed
and a low gas-flame eyeing him from above. He put out a hand, because he
felt queer about the head, and touched bandages. Then some one spoke in
his ear.

"You want to keep quiet, Mr. Blaine."

He looked. A doctor was sitting beside him.

"Where's mother?" he asked.

"Here I am, Joe." Her voice was sweet in his ears.

She was sitting on the bed at his feet.

"Come here."

She took the seat beside him and folded his free hand with both of hers.

"Mother--I want to know what's the matter with me--every bit of it."

"Well, Joe, you've a broken arm and a banged-up head, but you'll be all
right."

"And you--are you all right?"

"Perfectly."

"They didn't go in the kitchen?"

"No."

"And the press?"

"It's smashed."

"And the office?"

"In ruins."

"How about Rann and the men?"

"Bruised--that's all."

"The police came?"

"Cleaned them out."

There was a pause; then Joe and his mother looked at each other with
queer expressions on their faces, and suddenly their mellow laughter
filled the room.

"Isn't it great, mother? That's what we get!"

"Well, Joe," said his mother, "what do you expect?"

Suddenly then another stood before him--bowed, remorseful, humble. It
was Sally Heffer, the tears trickling down her face.

She knelt at the bedside and buried her face in the cover.

"It's my fault!" she cried. "It's my fault!"

"Yours, Sally?" cried Joe, quite forgetting the "Miss." "How so?"

"I--I went to Marrin's and got the girls out."

"Got the girls out?" Joe exclaimed. "Where are they?"

"On the street."

"Bring them into the ruins," said Joe, "and organize them. I'm going to
make a business of this thing."

Sally looked up aghast.

"But I--I ought to be shot down. It's I that should have been hurt."

Joe smiled on her.

"Sally! Sally! what an impetuous girl you are! What would I do without
you?"

VII

OF THE THIRTY THOUSAND

One wonderful January twil