Stephen Lamar, walking delegate, sitting up in a far corner of the hall, surrounded by his personal adherents, watching the proceedings with anxious eyes, was quick to note the dangerous tendency that the meeting was taking on. He knew that he must at once fling himself and his personality into the controversy in order to stem the tide that was setting so strongly toward complete disaster. He had not cared to speak. He had not hitherto considered it necessary that he should do so. The situation had seemed to be firmly enough in his grasp. But now he felt that it was imperative that he should take the floor, else everything would be lost; and how would he ever again face Mary Bradley?
When he arose there were hoarse shouts of welcome, and cries of "To the platform, Steve!" So he mounted the platform and began to speak. He reminded his hearers of the years of devoted service he had given to the cause of labor.
Some one in the audience cried out:
"Ye've been well paid for it, too."
He did not heed the interruption, but went on to tell of the superhuman efforts he had put forth to make this strike a success.
"I have done all that mortal man could do," he shouted, "to help you win your fight, and to relieve your distress. I have suffered with you."
"The hell you have!"
It was the same voice that had interrupted before, and again the speaker disregarded it, and went vigorously on. He could not afford, in this emergency, to get into a controversy with some obscure workman on the floor.
"I know all there is to know about this strike," he declared. "And I know Richard Malleson and his board. Believe me, men, they are putting up no bluff. They mean what they say. They are determined to crush us. We are already beaten. The only thing left
