The apparatus of the meeting was kept in the shop of a friendly carpenter near-by.  The carpenter had made a “soap-box” that was a wonder—­a platform mounted upon four slender legs, detachable, so that one man could carry the whole business and set it up.  Thus the speaker was lifted a couple of feet above the heads of the crowd, and provided with a hand-rail upon which he might lean, and even pound, if he did not pound too hard.  A kerosene torch burned some distance from his head, illuminating his features, and it was Jimmie’s business to see that this torch was properly cleaned and filled, and to hold it erect on a pole part of the time.  The rest of the time he peddled literature among the crowd—­copies of the Leesville Worker, and five and ten cent pamphlets supplied by the National Office.

He would come home at night, worn out from these labours after his daily toil; he would fall asleep at Lizzie’s side, and have to be routed out by her when the alarm-clock went off next morning.  She would get him a cup of hot coffee, and after he had drunk this, he would be himself again, and would chatter about the adventures of the night before.  There was always something happening, a fellow starting a controversy, a drunken man, or perhaps a couple of thugs in the pay of old man Granitch, trying to break up the meeting.

Lizzie would do her best to show that sympathy with her husband’s activities which is expected from a dutiful wife.  But all the time there was a grief in her soul—­the eternal grief of the feminine temperament, which is cautious and conservative, in conflict with the masculine, which is adventurous and destructive.  Here was Jimmie, earning twice what he had ever earned before, having a chance to feed his children properly and to put by a little margin for the first time in his harassed life; but instead of making the most of the opportunity, he was going out on the streets every night, doing everything in his power to destroy the golden occasion which Fate had brought to him!  Like the fellow who climbs a tree to saw off a limb, and sits on the limb and saws between himself and the tree!

In spite of her best efforts, Lizzie’s broad, kindly face would sometimes become hard with disappointment, and a big tear would roll down each of her sturdy cheeks.  Jimmie would be sorry for her, and would patiently try to explain his actions.  Should a man think only of his own wife and children, and forget entirely all the other wives and children of the working-class?  That was why the workers had been slaves all through the ages, because each thought of himself, and never of his fellows.  No, you must think of your class!  You must act as a class—­on the alert to seize every advantage, to teach solidarity and stimulate class-consciousness!  Jimmie would use these long words, which he had heard at meetings; but then, seeing that Lizzie did not understand them, he would go back and say it over again in words of one syllable.