ry.
That's a fairy story the grafters shove at you every time they want to
rob you some more."

"But don't vote for the grafters," Billy contended. "If we selected
honest men we'd get honest treatment."

"I wish you'd come to some of our meetings, Billy," Tom said wistfully.
"If you would, you'd get your eyes open an' vote the socialist ticket
next election."

"Not on your life," Billy declined. "When you catch me in a socialist
meeting'll be when they can talk like white men."

Bert was humming:

"We're living now in a funny time, When money is made to burn."

Mary was too angry with her husband, because of the impending strike
and his incendiary utterances, to hold conversation with Saxon, and the
latter, bepuzzled, listened to the conflicting opinions of the men.

"Where are we at?" she asked them, with a merriness that concealed her
anxiety at heart.

"We ain't at," Bert snarled. "We're gone."

"But meat and oil have gone up again," she chafed. "And Billy's wages
have been cut, and the shop men's were cut last year. Something must be
done."

"The only thing to do is fight like hell," Bert answered. "Fight, an' go
down fightin'. That's all. We're licked anyhow, but we can have a last
run for our money."

"That's no way to talk," Tom rebuked.

"The time for talkin' 's past, old cock. The time for fightin' 's come."

"A hell of a chance you'd have against regular troops and machine guns,"
Billy retorted.

"Oh, not that way. There's such things as greasy sticks that go up with
a loud noise and leave holes. There's such things as emery powder--"

"Oh, ho!" Mary burst out upon him, arms akimbo. "So that's what it
means. That's what the emery in your vest pocket meant."

Her husband ignored her. Tom smoked with a troubled air. Billy was hurt.
It showed plainly in his face.

"You ain't ben doin' that, Bert?" he asked, his manner showing his
expectancy of his friend's denial.

"Sure thing, if you wont to know. I'd see'm all in hell if I could,
before I go."

"He's a bloody-minded anarchist," Mary complained. "Men like him killed
McKinley, and Garfield, an'--an' an' all the rest. He'll be hung. You'll
see. Mark my words. I'm glad there's no children in sight, that's all."

"It's hot air," Billy comforted her.

"He's just teasing you," Saxon soothed. "He always was a josher."

But Mary shook her head.

"I know. I hear him talkin' in his sleep. He swears and curses something
awful, an' grits his t