“Joe!  Joe!”

“What is it?” Joe drew the boy near.

“They’ve gone back—­the men have gone back!”

“Gone back?” cried Joe.

“Read this letter!”

Joe read it, and spoke angrily.

“Then I’ll do something!”

Izon pleaded with him.

“Be careful, Joe—­don’t do anything foolish for my sake.  I’ll get along—­”

“But your wife!  How does she take it?”

Izon’s face brightened.

“Oh, she’s a Comrade!  That’s why I married her!”

“Good!” said Joe.  “Then I’ll go ahead.  I’ll speak my mind!”

“Not for me, though,” cried Izon.  “I’ll get something else.”

“Are you sure of that?” asked Joe.

“Why not?”

“Are you sure,” Joe went on, “that you won’t be blacklisted?”

Izon stared at him.

“Well—­I suppose—­I will.”

“You’ll have to leave the city, Jacob.”

“I can’t.  I’m right in my course of engineering.  I can’t go.”

“Well, we’ll see!” Joe’s voice softened.  “Now you go home and rest.  There’s a good fellow.  And everything will be all right!”

And he saw Izon out.

Joe began again to feel the tragic undercurrents of life, the first time since the dark days following the fire.  He came back, and stood brooding, his homely face darkened with sorrow.  Sally stood watching him, her pale face flushing, her eyes darting sympathy and daring.

“Mr. Joe.”

“Yes, Miss Sally.”

“I want to do something.”

“What?”

“I want to go up to Marrin’s to-morrow and get the girls out on strike.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ve done it before; I can do it again.”

Joe laughed softly.

“Miss Sally, what would I do without you?  I’d go stale on life, I think.”

She made an impulsive movement toward him.

“Mr. Joe.”

“Yes?”

“I want to help you—­every way.”

“I know you do.”  His voice was a little husky, and he looked up and met her fine, clear eyes.

Then she turned away, sadly.

“You’ll let me do it?”

“Oh, no!” he said firmly.  “The idea’s appealing, but you mustn’t think of it, Miss Sally.  It will only stir up trouble.”

“We ought to.”

“Not for this.”

“But the shirtwaist-makers are working in intolerable conditions; they’re just ready to strike; a spark would blow ’em all up.”

He shook his head.

“Wait—­wait till we see what my next number does!”

Sally said no more; but her heart nursed her desire until it grew to an overmastering passion.  She left for the night, and Joe sat down, burning with the fires of righteousness.  And he wrote an editorial that altered the current of his life.  He wrote: 

FORTY-FIVE TREACHEROUS MEN