straight of the matter.

Just now a sickly-looking man, with a piece of red flannel tied around
his throat, was standing on the steps, making a futile effort against the
noise to explain his return to work.

"I can't let 'em _starve_," he kept repeating in a hoarse, apologetic
voice. "When a man's got a sick wife and eight children, he ain't able to
do as he likes. I don't want to give in no more 'n you-all do. Neither
does Jim here, nor Tom Dawes. But what can we do?"

"Do like the rest of us!" shouted some one in the crowd, "Stick it out!
Learn 'em a lesson. They can't run their bloomin' old plant without us.
Pull him down off them steps, boys!"

"Naw, you don't!" cried another man, seizing a stick and jumping at the
steps. "We got a right to do as we like, same as you! Come on up, Tom
Dawes! We ain't going to let our families in for the Charity
Organization."

Quick cries of "Traitor!" "Scab!" "Pull 'em down!" were succeeded by a
lively scrimmage in which there was a rush for the steps.

Quin, from his place at the edge of the crowd, saw a dozen men surround
three. He saw the man with the red rag about his throat put up a feeble
defense against two assailants. Then he ceased to see and began only to
feel. Whatever the row was about, they weren't fighting fairly, and his
blood began to rise. He stood it as long as he could; then, with a cry of
protest, he plunged through the crowd. In his sternest top-sergeant voice
he issued orders, and enforced them with a brawny fist that was used to
handling men. A moment later he dragged a limp victim from under the
struggling group.

This unexpected interruption by an unknown man in uniform, together with
the appearance of a stern-faced man in spectacles at an upper window, had
an instant effect on the crowd. The strikers began to slink out of the
yards, while the three assaulted men dusted their clothes and entered the
factory.

Quin followed them in, and upon inquiring for the office was directed to
the second floor, where he followed devious ways until he reached the
door of a large room filled with desks in rows, at each of which sat a
clerk.

"Mr. Bangs?" repeated a red-nosed girl, in answer to his inquiry. "Got an
appointment?"

"No," said Quin; "but I've got a parcel that's to be delivered in
person."

The red-nosed one thereupon consulted the man at the next desk, and,
after some colloquy, conducted Quin to one of the small rooms at the rear
of the large