it."

"He must have been brave," Saxon commented.

"Brave?" Billy flared. "With the police, an' the army an' navy behind
him? I suppose you'll be takin' their part next. Brave? A-takin' the
food outa the mouths of our women an children. Didn't Curley Jones's
little kid die last night? Mother's milk not nourishin', that's what it
was, because she didn't have the right stuff to eat. An' I know, an'
you know, a dozen old aunts, an' sister-in-laws, an' such, that's had to
hike to the poorhouse because their folks couldn't take care of 'em in
these times."

In the morning paper Saxon read the exciting account of the futile
attempt to break the teamsters' strike. Roy Blanchard was hailed a hero
and held up as a model of wealthy citizenship. And to save herself
she could not help glowing with appreciation of his courage. There was
something fine in his going out to face the snarling pack. A brigadier
general of the regular army was quoted as lamenting the fact that the
troops had not been called out to take the mob by the throat and
shake law and order into it. "This is the time for a little healthful
bloodletting," was the conclusion of his remarks, after deploring
the pacific methods of the police. "For not until the mob has been
thoroughly beaten and cowed will tranquil industrial conditions obtain."

That evening Saxon and Billy went up town. Returning home and finding
nothing to eat, he had taken her on one arm, his overcoat on the other.
The overcoat he had pawned at Uncle Sam's, and he and Saxon had eaten
drearily at a Japanese restaurant which in some miraculous way managed
to set a semi-satisfying meal for ten cents. After eating, they started
on their way to spend an additional five cents each on a moving picture
show.

At the Central Bank Building, two striking teamsters accosted Billy
and took him away with them. Saxon waited on the corner, and when
he returned, three quarters of an hour later, she knew he had been
drinking.

Half a block on, passing the Forum Cafe, he stopped suddenly. A
limousine stood at the curb, and into it a young man was helping several
wonderfully gowned women. A chauffeur sat in the driver's sent. Billy
touched the young man on the arm. He was as broad-shouldered as Billy
and slightly taller. Blue-eyed, strong-featured, in Saxon's opinion he
was undeniably handsome.

"Just a word, sport," Billy said, in a low, slow voice.

The young man glanced quickly at Billy and Saxon, and ask