To restore the human body to a state of health after the shock of a severe illness is a long and tedious task. It is not different with the body politic; it is not different with communities, with churches, or with business.
April had melted into May, and May had blossomed into June before life in the city began to take on its normal aspect. The riot at the Malleson mills had been the climax of the labor troubles. It was the beginning of the end. The striking workmen and their sympathizers had neither the strength nor the courage to make any further demonstration of physical force. They were beaten, cowed, utterly disheartened. Strike-breakers and non-union workmen passed to and fro along the street unmolested, save that now and then the boastful bearing of some one of them invited an epithet or a blow. But there was no general disorder. The mills had been opened, the wheels were turning, smoke belched from the chimneys; but the complement of workmen had not yet been obtained. The strike had, indeed, been declared off, but Mr. Malleson refused, as he had said he would refuse, to take back any of the workmen who had voluntarily left his employ.
Westgate went to him, one day, and, in language which he alone dared use to him, pointed out the folly of his course. The mills were not being worked to half their capacity. They were being run at an actual loss. Business in the city was still stagnant. Some of the workmen had gone elsewhere, some of them were
