ong is _this_ going to go on?" demanded their leader, with a
sneer. "Talk--talk--talk! That's always the way, and nothing done, after
all. Well, there's been about enough of it, and that's flat. You've
been living on the Union, and I suppose you think you can go on living
on it till hell freezes over. Now listen to me. When the strike began we
had plenty of funds, and more came to us from the Central Federation.
The funds are gone, d' you hear, and the Federation is asking what we
mean to do. There is six hundred and odd dollars in the treasury. No
need to tell you how far that much will go, is there? Not one day! And
with all your talk, you've everything your own way, if only you knew
it--a police that doesn't dare lift a finger against you, and a Governor
that won't budge an inch till I give the word! Well, to-morrow I give
the word, understand me? To-morrow I throw you over, and you can get out
of this the best way you can. I'm sick of your talk. I'm sick of your
doing nothing. Your daughters are on the streets, your wives and your
children are starving, and _you_--by God! _you_ are boozing in a bar
till daylight, and _talking_! So that's enough. To-morrow, the strike's
at an end. To-morrow, the Governor comes down on you like ten thousand
of brick! And I'm the man that gives the word! Unless"--

He paused and cast a keen glance at the faces which surrounded him. His
last words had been greeted by a low growl.

"Unless," he continued, "you know your business, and make a move that's
worth the name."

The hush of attention seemed to deepen into the leaden silence of
expectancy.

"There are two men who must be put out of the way," said McGrath slowly,
"and that before another midnight. I don't care how it's done, but done
it must be, for the sake of example. It's easy enough to manage it, as
things are. There'll be a howl, but we have the authorities fixed. And
those two men must go!"

In the tense silence which followed, a man's voice whispered two words
hoarsely:--

"Mr. Rathbawne!"

"Ay, _Mr._ Rathbawne!" echoed McGrath, flashing into that passionate
manner of his which carried all before it. "_Mr._ Rathbawne, who's
starving you! _Mr._ Rathbawne, who's making your sons drunkards! _Mr._
Rathbawne, who's debauching your daughters! _Mr._ Rathbawne, who's
killing your wives by inches! _Mr._ Rathbawne, and _Mr._ John Hamilton
Barclay, Lieutenant-Governor of Alleghenia!"

For a moment it seemed as if he would be