Clapping her hands to arrest attention, Mrs. Dane called:
"Silas Bowen, if you are here, answer. Silas Bowen!"
"Aye, aye! Silas Bowen is here to hurry up Judgment day for the hounds that have dodged it too long."
"You must go to your wife; she needs you. The tenement where you live burned down to-night."
"Let it burn! I hope the old rat hole isn't insured."
"But your wife is frantic, and wants you at once; and one of your children is hurt. Silas, do go to them, I beg of you. I have the helpless boy and the burned girl at my room, and your wife is there."
"I have waited too long for this picnic to turn my back just as the music begins. I am in for my share of the fun to-night, and kindling wood will be cheap to-morrow. When the devil's pay day comes for the boss, I mean to see the count."
Leaning over the dashboard of the car, Mrs. Dane watched for an opportunity, and snatched from Harlberg's hand the pistol reserved for his own use. Holding it above her head, she cried:
"Friends, fellow-workers, listen a moment! You are striking for the right to live like human beings, not beasts of burden; but be careful, be sure you do not put yourselves in the wrong by rash violence. If strife comes, let your oppressors start it. Personal attack is not your privilege, but defence is your right. Stand here quietly, shoulder to shoulder, cool, steady, and keep non-union traitors at arm's length. We who are working will see that the pot boils for your families; but, men, I beg of you, attempt no violence; because, if the first shot comes from us, the end will be we shall all drop from the frying pan into the fire. The police are bloodhounds wearing the collar of rich corporations, and the courts are butcher pens, where 'fighting strikers' are slaughtered. When rifles are fired into your ranks and bayonets thrust into your bodies, then—only then—must you remember 'blood washes blood.' Oh, men, be patient! Max Harlberg, don't forget that you are responsible for what may happen now. These men have obeyed you—have followed you like sheep to the edge of a precipice. Don't drive them with the butt of a pistol to leap to ruin. Counsel no bloodshed, no rashness, no wreckage."
A feeble cheer rose, smothered by a grumbling growl.