“Don’t worry about that, mother,” Ruth said, quickly.  “There are plenty of places—­”

“Who fired you?” interrupted Dulac, his black eyes glowing angrily.  “That young cub?”

“Young Mr. Foote,” said Ruth.

“It was because I live here,” said Dulac, intensely.  “That was why, wasn’t it?  That’s the way they fight, striking at us through our womenfolks. ...  And when we answer with bricks...”

“I don’t think he wanted to do it,” Ruth said.  “I think he was made to.”

“Nonsense!  Too bad the boys didn’t get their hands on him last night—­ the infernal college-bred whipper-snapper! ...  Well, don’t you worry about that job.  Nor you, either, Mrs. Frazer.”

“Seems like I never did anything but worry; if it wasn’t about one thing it was another, and no peace since I was in the cradle,” said Mrs. Frazer, dolefully.  “If it ain’t the rent it’s strikes and riots and losin’ positions and not knowin’ if your husband’s comin’ home to sleep in bed, or his name in the paper in the morning and him in jail.  And since he was killed—­”

“Now, mother,” said Ruth, “I’ll have a job before tomorrow night.  We won’t starve or be put out into the street.”

Mrs. Frazer dabbed at her eyes with her apron and signified her firm belief that capital was banded together for the sole purpose of causing her mental agony; indeed, that capital had been invented with that end in view, and if she had her way—­which seldom enough, and her never doing a wrong to a living body—­capital should have visited on it certain plagues and punishments hinted at as adequate, but not named.  Whereupon she got up from the table and went out into the kitchen after the pie.

“Mrs. Frazer,” said Dulac, when she returned, “I’ve got to hurry downtown to headquarters, but I want to have a little talk with Ruth before I go.  Can’t the dishes wait?”

“I did up dishes alone before Ruth was born, and a few thousand times since.  Guess I can get through with it without her help at least once more.”

Dulac smiled, so that his white, even teeth showed in a foreign sort of way.  In that moment Ruth thought there was something Oriental or Latin about his appearance—­surely something exotic.  He had a power of fascination, and its spell was upon her.

He stood up and walked to the door of the little parlor, where he stood waiting.  Ruth, not blushing, but pale, afraid, yet eager to hear what she knew he was going to say, passed him into the room.  He closed the door.

“You know what I want to say,” he began, approaching close to her, but not touching her.  “You know what life will be like with a man whose work is what mine is. ...  But I’d try to make up for the hardships and the worries and the disagreeable things.  I’d try, Ruth, and I think I could do it. ...  Your heart is with the Cause.  I wouldn’t marry you if it wasn’t because you couldn’t stand the life.  But you want to see what I want to see. ...  If I’m