"I don't want to do either," said Victor. "I want those injunctions to stand. Those fools have done at a stroke what we couldn't have done in years. They have united the working class. They—the few—have forbidden us, the many, to unite or to speak. If those injunctions hold for a month, nothing could stop our winning this fall.... I can't understand how Dick Kelly could be so stupid. Five years ago these moves of his would have been bad for us—yes, even three years ago. But we've got too strong—and he doesn't realize! Selma, when you want to win, always pray that your opponent will underestimate you."
"I still don't understand," said Selma. "None of us does. You must explain to me, so that I'll know what to do."
"Do nothing," said Victor. "I shall be out a week from to-day. I shall not go into the streets until I not only am well but look well."
"They arrested Tom Colman to-day," said Selma. "But they put the case over until you'd be able to plead at the same time."
"That's right," said Victor. "They are playing into our hands!" And he laughed as heartily as his bandages would permit.
"Oh, I don't understand—I don't understand at all!" cried Selma. "Maybe you are all wrong about it."
"I was never more certain in my life," replied Victor. "Stop worrying about it, my dear." And he patted her hands gently as they lay folded in her lap. "I want you—all our people—to go round looking sad these next few days. I want Dick Kelly to feel that he is on the right track."
There came a knock at the door, and Mrs. Colman entered. She had been a school teacher, and of all the occupations there is no other that leaves such plain, such indelible traces upon manner, mind and soul. Said she:
"Miss Jane Hastings is outside in her carriage—and wants to know if she can see you."
Selma frowned. Victor said with alacrity: "Certainly. Bring her in, Mrs. Colman."