“Ah, well, there’s a lot of sin and wretchedness here now!” he said sadly.  “Women drinking—­men acting like brutes!  But some day, when the liquor traffic is regulated, and we have pension laws, and perhaps the single tax—–­”

“And the Right-Reverend William Lord Oliver, R. I., in the Presidential Chair, hooray and Glory be to God—–!” Susan began.

“Oh, you dry up, Susan,” Billy said laughing.  “I don’t care,” he added contentedly.  “I like to be at the bottom of things, shoving up.  And my Lord, if we only pull this thing off—–!”

“It’s not my preconceived idea of a strike,” Susan said, after a moment’s silence.  “I thought one had to throw coal, and run around the streets with a shawl over one’s head—–­”

“In the east, where the labor is foreign, that’s about it,” he said, “but here we have American-born laborers, asking for their rights.  And I believe it’s all coming!”

“But with ignorance and inefficiency on one hand, and graft and cruelty on the other, and drink and human nature and poverty adding their complications, it seems rather a big job!” Susan said.  “Now, look at these small kids out of bed at this hour of night, Bill!  And what are they eating?—­Boiled crabs!  And notice the white stockings--I never had a pair in my life, yet every kidlet on the block is wearing them.  And look upstairs there, with a bed still airing!”

“The wonder is that it’s airing at all,” Billy said absently.  “Is that the boys coming back?” he asked sharply.

“Now, Bill, why do you worry—–?” But Susan knew it was useless to scold him.  They went quietly back, and sat on Mrs. Cudahy’s steps, and waited for news.  All Ironworks Row waited.  Down the street Susan could see silent groups on nearly every door-step.  It grew very dark; there was no moon, but the sky was thickly strewn with stars.

It was after ten o’clock when the committee came back.  Susan knew, the moment that she saw the three, moving all close together, silently and slowly, that they brought no good news.

As a matter of fact, they brought almost no news at all.  They went into Clem Cudahy’s dining-room, and as many men and women as could crowded in after them.  Billy sat at the head of the table.

Carpenter, the “old man” himself, had stuck to his guns, Clem Cudahy said.  He was the obstinate one; the younger men would have conceded something, if not everything, long ago.  But the old man had said that he would not be dictated to by any man alive, and if the men wanted to listen to an ignorant young enthusiast—–­

“Three cheers for Mr. Oliver!” said a strong young voice, at this point, and the cheers were given and echoed in the street, although Billy frowned, and said gruffly, “Oh, cut it out!”

It was a long evening.  Susan began to think that they would talk forever.  But, at about eleven o’clock, the men who had been streaming in and out of the house began to disperse, and she and Mrs. Cudahy went into the kitchen, and made a pot of coffee.