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above its hoarse； defiant curses was heard； from behind； the throbbing of
drums。
〃Cossacks！ More Cossacks！〃
The cry was taken up by Canadians； Italians； Belgians； Poles； Slovaks；
Jews； and Syrians。 The drums grew louder； the pressure from the rear was
relaxed； the throng in Faber Street began a retreat in the direction of
the power plant。 Down that street； now in double time； came three
companies of Boston militia； newly arrived in Hampton； blue…taped；
gaitered； slouch…hatted。 From columns of fours they wheeled into line；
and with bayonets at charge slowly advanced。 Then the boldest of the
mob； who still lingered； sullenly gave way； West Street was cleared； and
on the wider thoroughfare the long line of traffic； the imprisoned
trolleys began to move again。。。。
Janet had wedged herself into the press far enough to gain a view down
West Street of the warehouse roofs； to see the water turned on； to hear
the screams and the curses and then the shots。 Once more she caught the
contagious rage of the mob； the spectacle had aroused her to fury； it
seemed ignominious； revolting that human beings； already sufficiently
miserable； should be used thus。 As she retreated reluctantly across the
car tracks her attention was drawn to a man at her side； a Slovak。 His
face was white and pinched； his clothes were wet。 Suddenly he stopped；
turned and shook his fist at the line of soldiers。
〃The Cossack； the politzman belong to the boss； the capitalist！〃 he
cried。 〃We ain't got no right to live。 I say； kill the capitalistkill
Ditmar！〃
A man with a deputy's shield ran toward them。
〃Move on！〃 he said brutally。 〃Move on； or I'll roil you in。〃 And Janet；
once clear of the people； fled westward； the words the foreigner had
spoken ringing in her ears。 She found herself repeating them aloud；
〃Kill Ditmar！〃 as she hurried through the gathering dusk past the power
house with its bottle…shaped chimneys； and crossed the little bridge over
the stream beside the chocolate factory。 She gained the avenue she had
trod with Eda on that summer day of the circus。 Here was the ragpicker's
shop； the fence covered with bedraggled posters； the deserted grand…stand
of the base…ball park spread with a milky…blue mantle of snow； and
beyond； the monotonous frame cottages all built from one model。 Now she
descried looming above her the outline of Torrey's Hill blurred and
melting into a darkening sky； and turned into the bleak lane where stood
the Franco…Belgian HallHampton Headquarters of the Industrial Workers
of the World。 She halted a moment at sight of the crowd of strikers
loitering in front of it； then went on again； mingling with them
excitedly beside the little building。 Its lines were simple and
unpretentious； and yet it had an exotic character all its own； differing
strongly from the surrounding houses： it might have been transported from
a foreign country and set down here。 As the home of that odd；
cooperative society of thrifty and gregarious Belgians it had stimulated
her imagination； and once before she had gazed； as now； through the
yellowed； lantern…like windows of the little store at the women and
children waiting to fill their baskets with the day's provisions。 In the
middle of the building was an entrance leading up to the second floor。
Presently she gathered the courage to enter。 Her heart was pounding as
she climbed the dark stairs and thrust open the door； and she stood a
moment on the threshold almost choked by the fumes of tobacco； bewildered
by the scene within； confused by the noise。 Through a haze of smoke she
beheld groups of swarthy foreigners fiercely disputing among themselves
apparently on the verge of actual combat； while a sprinkling of silent
spectators of both sexes stood at the back of the hall。 At the far end
was a stage； still set with painted； sylvan scenery； and seated there；
alone； above the confusion and the strife； with a calmness； a detachment
almost disconcerting； was a stout man with long hair and a loose black
tie。 He was smoking a cigar and reading a newspaper which he presently
flung down； taking up another from a pile on the table beside him。
Suddenly one of the groups； shouting and gesticulating； surged toward him
and made an appeal through their interpreter。 He did not appear to be
listening； without so much as lowering his newspaper he spoke a few words
in reply； and the group retired； satisfied。 By some incomprehensible
power he dominated。 Panting； fascinated； loath to leave yet fearful；
Janet watched him； breathing now deeply this atmosphere of smoke； of
strife； and turmoil。 She found it grateful； for the strike； the battle
was in her own soul as well。 Momentarily she had forgotten Rolfe； who
had been in her mind as she had come hither； and then she caught sight of
him in a group in the centre of the hall。 He saw her； he was making his
way toward her； he was holding her hands； looking down into her face with
that air of appropriation； of possession she remembered。 But she felt no
resentment now； only a fierce exultation at having dared。
〃You've come to join us！〃 he exclaimed。 〃I thought I'd lost you。〃
He bent closer to her that she might hear。
〃We are having a meeting of the Committee；〃 he said； and she smiled。
Despite her agitation； this struck her as humorous。 And Rolfe smiled
back at her。 〃You wouldn't think so； but Antonelli knows how to manage
them。 He is a general。 Come； I will enlist you； you shall be my
recruit。〃
〃But what can I do？〃 she asked。
〃I have been thinking。 You said you were a stenographerwe need
stenographers； clerks。 You will not be wasted。 Come in here。〃
Behind her two box…like rooms occupying the width of the building had
been turned into offices； and into one of these Rolfe led her。 Men and
women were passing in and out； while in a corner a man behind a desk sat
opening envelopes； deftly extracting bills and post…office orders and
laying them in a drawer。 On the wall of this same room was a bookcase
half filled with nondescript volumes。
〃The Bibliothequethat's French for the library of the Franco…Belgian
Cooperative Association；〃 explained Rolfe。 〃And this is Comrade Sanders。
Sanders is easier to say than Czernowitz。 Here is the young lady I told
you about； who wishes to help usMiss Bumpus。〃
Mr。 Sanders stopped counting his money long enough to grin at her。
〃You will be welcome；〃 he said； in good English。 〃Stenographers are
scarce here。 When can you come？〃
〃To…morrow morning；〃 answered Janet。
〃Good；〃 he said。 〃I'll have a machine for you。 What kind do you use？〃
She told him。 Instinctively she took a fancy to this little man； whose
flannel shirt and faded purple necktie； whose blue； unshaven face and
tousled black hair seemed incongruous with an alert； business…like； and
efficient manner。 His nose； though not markedly Jewish； betrayed in him
the blood of that vital race which has triumphantly survived so many
centuries of bondage and oppression。
〃He was a find； Czernowitzhe calls himself Sanders；〃 Rolfe explained；
as they entered the hall once more。 〃An Operative in the Patuxent；
educated himself； went to nigh