“Up-stairs.”

“For what?”

“To see one of the girls.  Her mother’s sick.”

The forelady eyed Sally suspiciously.

“Did you get a permit from the office?”

Sally seemed surprised.

“Permit?  No!  Do you have to get a permit?”

The forelady spoke roughly.

“You get a permit, or you don’t go up.”

“Where’s the office?”

“In here.”

“Thanks for telling me!”

Sally came down, and, as she entered the doorway, the forelady proceeded up-stairs.  Sally delayed a second, until the forelady disappeared around the bend, and then quickly, quietly she followed, taking the steps two at a time.  The forelady had hardly entered the doorway on the next landing when Sally was in with her, and treading softly in her footsteps.

This was the loft, vast, lit by windows east and west, and hung, this snow-darkened morning, with many glittering lights.  Through all the space girls and women, close together, bent over power-machines which seemed to race at intolerable speed.  There was such a din and clatter, such a whizzing, thumping racket, that voices or steps would well be lost.  Then suddenly, in the very center of the place, the forelady, stopping to speak to a girl, while all the girls of the neighborhood ceased work to listen, thus producing a space of calm—­the forelady, slightly turning and bending, spied Sally.

She came up indignantly.

“Why did you follow me?  Go down to the office!”

Many more machines stopped, many more pale faces lifted and watched.

Sally gave a quick glance around, and was a trifle upset by seeing Mr. Marrin coming straight toward her.  He came with his easy, tripping stride, self-satisfied, red-faced, tastefully dressed, an orchid in his buttonhole.  Sally spoke quickly.

“I was only looking for Mr. Marrin, and here he is!”

As Mr. Marrin came up, more and more machines stopped, as if by contagion, and the place grew strangely hushed.

The forelady turned to her boss.

“This woman’s sneaked in here without a permit!”

Marrin spoke sharply.

“What do you want?”

Then in the quiet Sally spoke in a loud, exultant voice.

“I only wanted to tell the girls to strike!”

A sudden electricity charged the air.

“What!” cried Marrin, the vein on his forehead swelling.  “You come in here—­”

“To tell the girls to strike,” Sally spoke louder.  “For you’ve made the men traitors and you’ve blacklisted Izon.”

Marrin sensed the danger in the shop’s quiet.

“For God’s sake,” he cried, “lower your voice—­speak to me—­tell me in private—­”

“I am,” shrieked Sally.  “I’m telling you I want the girls to strike!”

He turned.

“Come in my private office, quick!  I’ll talk with you!”

Sally followed his hurried steps.