"Lamar is in love with her, isn't he?"
"I don't know, Phil, but I shouldn't be a bit surprised if he was. I'm in love with her myself."
Westgate turned to the board.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I think I can solve the mystery."
But before he had an opportunity to explain, Richard Malleson swung around in his office chair and confronted his son. His face was scarlet, and his eyes shot fire.
"How dare you," he exclaimed, "in a company of gentlemen, boast openly of your disgraceful relation with this notorious woman! I'll not permit it!"
Barry's eyes opened wide with surprise. He was not angry. Nothing ever angered him. But he appeared to be deeply grieved.
"Why, father," he began, "Mrs. Bradley is a genuinely good woman"
But his father, in a rage now, interrupted him.
"Not a word!" he cried. "I'll not listen to you. I'll not permit you to sit on this board. If you don't leave the room at once, I'll adjourn this meeting."
The gentlemen who sat at the directors' table gazed fearfully from father to son and held their tongues. It was not their quarrel.
Barry rose slowly from his chair, looking at his father with wide and inquiring eyes. He did not seem quite to understand it all, except that he had been ordered to leave the room.
"All right, father," he said; "I'll go. I'll go."
He crossed uncertainly to the door, turned and looked back for a moment, in apparent wonder, at the astonished and apprehensive faces of the silent group, and then went out. He got his hat and coat and put them on, and walked straight to the headquarters of the Socialist League in the Potter Building.
After he had left the room Westgate explained to the board his theory of the threatened strike. He had
