“Good-by!”

He went down into the open air exulting.

He could not overcome his astonishment.  She was so different than he had anticipated, so much more human and simple; so much more easy to fit into the every-day shake-up of life, and full of that divine allowance for other people’s shortcomings.  It was impossible to act the tragedian before her.  And, most wondrous of all, she was a “live wire.”  He had gone to her abasing himself; he came away as her employer, subtly cheered, encouraged, and lifted to new heights of vivid enterprise.

“Sally Heffer!” he kept repeating.  “Isn’t she a marvel!  And, miracle of miracles, she is going to swing the great work with me!”

And so the Stove Circle was founded with Sally Heffer, Michael Dunan, Oscar Heming, Nathan Latsky, Salvatore Giotto, and Jacob Izon.  Its members met together a fortnight later on a cold wintry night.  The stove was red-hot, the circle drew about it on their kitchen chairs, and Joe spent the first meeting in going over his plans for the paper.  There were many invaluable practical comments—­especially on how to get news and what news to get—­and each member was delegated to see to one department.  Latsky and Giotto took immigration, Dunan took politics and the Irish, Heming took the East Side, Izon, foreign news, and Sally Heffer took workwomen.  Thereafter each one in his way visited labor unions, clubs, and societies and got each group to pledge itself to send in news.  They helped, too, to get subscriptions—­both among their friends and in the unions.  In this way Joe founded his paper.  He never repeated the personal struggle of that first week, for he now had an enthusiastic following to spread the work for him—­men and a woman, every one of whom had access to large bodies of people and was an authority in his own world.

But that wonderful week was never forgotten by Joe.  Each day he had risen early and gone forth and worked till late at night, making a canvass in good earnest.  House after house he penetrated, knocking at doors, inquiring for a mythical Mrs. (or Mr.) Parsons (this to hush the almost universal fear that he had come to collect the rent or the instalment on the furniture or clothes of the family).  In this way he started conversation.  He found first that the immediate neighborhood knew him already.  And he found many other things.  He found rooms tidy, exquisite in their cleanliness and good taste of arrangement; and then other rooms slovenly and filthy.  He found young wives just risen from bed, chewing gum and reading the department-store advertisements in the paper, their hair in curl-papers.  He found fat women hanging out of windows, their dishes unwashed, their beds unmade, their floors unswept.  He found men sick in bed, and managed to sit down at their side and give them an interesting twenty minutes.  He found other men, out of work, smoking and reading.  He found one Italian family making “willow plumes”