“No, I’m not!” Susan smiled.  “My name is Brown.  But Mr. Oliver was a sort of ward of my aunt’s, and so we call ourselves cousins.”

“Well, of course ye wud,” agreed Mrs. Cudahy.  “Wait till I pin on me hat wanst, and I’ll take you up to the Hall.  He’s at the Hall, Joe, I dunno?” she asked.

Joseph assenting, they set out for the Hall, under a fire of curious eyes.

“Joe’s cleaning up for the conference,” said Mrs. Cudahy.  “There’s a committee going to meet tonight.  The old man-that’s Carpenter, the boss of the works, will be there, and some of the others.”

Susan nodded intelligently, but Saturday evening seemed to her a curious time to select for a conference.  They walked along in silence, Mrs. Cudahy giving a brief yet kindly greeting to almost every man they met.

“Hello, Dan, hello, Gene; how are ye, Jim?” said she, and one young giant, shouldering his scowling way home, she stopped with a fat imperative hand.  “How’s it going, Jarge?”

“It’s going rotten,” said George, sullenly evading her eyes.

“Well,—­don’t run by me that way—­stand still!” said the old woman.  “What d’ye mean by rotten?”

“Aw, I mean rotten!” said George ungraciously.  “D’ye know what the old man is going to do now?  He says that he’ll give Billy just two or three days more to settle this damn thing, and then he’ll wire east and get a carload of men right straight through from Philadelphia.  He said so to young Newman, and Frank Harris was in the room, and heard him.  He says they’re picked out, and all ready to come!”

“And what does Mr. Oliver say?” asked Mrs. Cudahy, whose face had grown dark.

“I don’t know!  I went up to the Hall, but at the first word he says, ’For God’s sake, George—­None of that here!  They’ll mob the old man if they hear it!’ They was all crowding about him, so I quit.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Cudahy, considering, “there’s to be a conference at six-thirty, but befoor that, Mr. Oliver and Clem and Rassette and Weidermeyer are going to meet t’gether in Mr. Oliver’s room at Rassette’s house.  Ye c’n see them there.”

“Well, maybe I will,” said George, softening, as he left them.

“What’s the conference about?” asked Susan pleasantly.

“What’s the—­don’t tell me ye don’t know that!” Mrs. Cudahy said, eying her shrewdly.

“I knew there was a strike—–­” Susan began ashamedly.

“Sure, there’s a strike,” Mrs. Cudahy agreed, with quiet grimness, and under her breath she added heavily, “Sure there is!”

“And are Mr. Oliver’s—­are the men out?” Susan asked.

“There’s nine hundred men out,” Mrs. Cudahy told her, coldly.

“Nine hundred!” Susan stopped short.  “But Billy’s not responsible for all that!” she added, presently.

“I don’t know who is, then,” Mrs. Cudahy admitted grimly.

“But—­but he never had more than thirty or forty men under him in his life!” Susan said eagerly.