t was, eyes shining with gladness, who told Saxon of the
happening.

"Served him right, too, the dirty scab," Maggie concluded.

"But his poor wife!" was Saxon's cry. "She's not strong. And then the
children. She'll never be able to take care of them if her husband
dies."

"An' serve her right, the damned slut!"

Saxon was both shocked and hurt by the Irishwoman's brutality. But
Maggie was implacable.

"'Tis all she or any woman deserves that'll put up an' live with a scab.
What about her children? Let'm starve, an' her man a-takin' the food out
of other children's mouths."

Mrs. Olsen's attitude was different. Beyond passive sentimental pity
for Henderson's wife and children, she gave them no thought, her chief
concern being for Otto Frank and Otto Frank's wife and children--herself
and Mrs. Frank being full sisters.

"If he dies, they will hang Otto," she said. "And then what will poor
Hilda do? She has varicose veins in both legs, and she never can stand
on her feet all day an' work for wages. And me, I cannot help. Ain't
Carl out of work, too?"

Billy had still another point of view.

"It will give the strike a black eye, especially if Henderson croaks,"
he worried, when he came home. "They'll hang Frank on record time.
Besides, we'll have to put up a defense, an' lawyers charge like Sam
Hill. They'll eat a hole in our treasury you could drive every team in
Oakland through. An' if Frank hadn't ben screwed up with whisky he'd
never a-done it. He's the mildest, good-naturedest man sober you ever
seen."

Twice that evening Billy left the house to find out if Henderson was
dead yet. In the morning the papers gave little hope, and the evening
papers published his death. Otto Frank lay in jail without bail. The
Tribune demanded a quick trial and summary execution, calling on the
prospective jury manfully to do its duty and dwelling at length on the
moral effect that would be so produced upon the lawless working class.
It went further, emphasizing the salutary effect machine guns would have
on the mob that had taken the fair city of Oakland by the throat.

And all such occurrences struck at Saxon personally. Practically alone
in the world, save for Billy, it was her life, and his, and their mutual
love-life, that was menaced. From the moment he left the house to the
moment of his return she knew no peace of mind. Rough work was afoot, of
which he told her nothing, and she knew he was playing his part in it.