mie Flynn!" cried the crowd.

"Oh, but you mustn't look at it that way! We must all make some
sacrifices----"

"Cut that slush! What do you know about sacrifices? I'm on to you.
You're one of them uptown reformers. What do you know about sacrifices?
Ye got a sure place to sleep, ain't ye? Ye've got a full belly an' a
husband to give ye spendin' money, ain't ye? Don't ye come down here
gittin' our jobs away an' then fergettin' all about us!"

There was a buzz of agreement and an undertone of anger which to an
experienced speaker would have been ominous. But Genevieve blundered on:
"We only want to help you----"

"We don't want yer help ner yer advice. You keep yer hands off our
business! Do yer preachin' uptown--that's where they need it. Ask the
landlords of Kentwood and the stockholders in the munition factories to
make some sacrifices, an' see where that gits ye! But don't ye come down
here, a-spyin' on us, ye dirty----"

The last words were happily lost as the crowd of girls closed in on
Genevieve with cries of "Spy!" "Scab!" "Throw her out!"

They had nearly torn her clothes off before E. Eliot was among them. She
sprang up on the chair and shouted:

"Girls--here, hold on a minute."

There was a hush. Some one called out: "It's Miss E. Eliot." "Listen a
minute. Don't waste your time getting mad at this girl. She's a friend
of mine. And you may not believe me, but she means all right."

"What's she pussyfootin' in here for?"

"Don't you know the story of the man from Pittsburgh who died and went
on?" cried E. Eliot. "Some kindly spirit showed him round the place,
and the newcomer said: 'Well, I don't think heaven's got anything on
Pittsburgh.' 'This isn't heaven!' said the spirit."

There was a second's pause, and then the laugh came.

"Now, this girl has just waked up to the fact that Whitewater isn't
heaven, and she thought you'd like to hear the news! I'll take the poor
lamb home, put cracked ice on her head and let her sleep it off."

They laughed again.

"Go to it," said the erstwhile spokeswoman for the working girls.

E. Eliot called them a cheery good-night. The factory girls drifted
away, in little groups, leaving Genevieve, bedraggled and hysterical,
clinging to her rescuer.

"They would have killed me if you hadn't come!" she gasped.

E. Eliot thought quickly.

"Stand here in the shadow of the fence till I come back," she said. "It
will be all right. I've got to run into the office an