“It’s for the meeting,” said Muriel, peeping in.

“Meeting?” repeated her father, in a dazed voice.

“Strike-meetings,” was the reply.  “Mrs. Gorman and some other ladies are coming at four o’clock.  Didn’t mother tell you?”

Mr. Porter, staring helplessly at the row of chairs, shook his head.

“Mrs. Evans is coming,” continued Muriel, in a hushed voice—­“the lady what punched Mr. Brown because he kept Bobbie Evans in one day.  He ain’t been kept in since.  I wish you——­”

She stopped suddenly, and, held by her father’s gaze, backed slowly out of the room.  Mr. Porter, left with the chairs, stood regarding them thoughtfully.  Their emptiness made an appeal that no right-minded man could ignore.  He put his hand over his mouth and his eyes watered.

He spent the next half-hour in issuing invitations, and at half-past three every chair was filled by fellow-strikers.  Three cans of beer, clay pipes, and a paper of shag stood on the table.  Mr. Benjamin Todd, an obese, fresh-coloured gentleman of middle age, took the easy-chair.  Glasses and teacups were filled.

“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Todd, lighting his pipe, “afore we get on to the business of this meeting I want to remind you that there is another meeting, of ladies, at four o’clock; so we’ve got to hurry up.  O’ course, if it should happen that we ain’t finished——­”

“Go on, Bennie!” said a delighted admirer.  “I see a female ’ead peeping in at the winder already,” said a voice.

“Let ’em peep,” said Mr. Todd, benignly.  “Then p’r’aps they’ll be able to see how to run a meeting.”

“There’s two more ’eads,” said the other.  “Oh, Lord, I know I sha’n’t be able to keep a straight face!”

“H’sh!” commanded Mr. Todd, sternly, as the street-door was heard to open.  “Be’ave yourself.  As I was saying, the thing we’ve got to consider about this strike——­”

The door opened, and six ladies, headed by Mrs. Porter, entered the room in single file and ranged themselves silently along the wall.

“Strike,” proceeded Mr. Todd, who found himself gazing uneasily into the eyes of Mrs. Gorman——­“strike—­er—­strike——­”

“He said that before,” said a stout lady, in a loud whisper; “I’m sure he did.”

“Is,” continued Mr. Todd, “that we have got to keep this—­this—­er—­”

“Strike,” prompted the same voice.

Mr. Todd paused, and, wiping his mouth with a red pocket-handkerchief, sat staring straight before him.

“I move,” said Mrs. Evans, her sharp features twitching with excitement, “that Mrs. Gorman takes the chair.”

“’Ow can I take it when he’s sitting in it?” demanded that lady.

“She’s a lady that knows what she wants and how to get it,” pursued Mrs. Evans, unheeding.  “She understands men—­”

“I’ve buried two ’usbands,” murmured Mrs. Gorman, nodding.

“And how to manage them,” continued Mrs. Evans.  “I move that Mrs. Gorman takes the chair.  Those in favour—­”