"Booth, sir."
"Good. I could not recognize you in this darkness. Are you armed?"
"Yes."
"Then you and I will defend this door. Who is inside?"
"The pressman—Thursday Smith—and three of the girls."
"The compositors?"
"No; they've gone to the hotel. Miss Doyle, Miss DeGraf, and—Hetty
Hewitt."
West went into the hack room, which was faintly illumined by candles stuck here and there. The girls and Smith were all bending over the imposing stone, where the forms of the paper were being made up.
"Here," said West, taking a revolver from his pocket and laying it on the table; "I'm afraid there may be an attack on this office in a few minutes, for I understand the language of those strikers and have been listening to them. If any of the mill hands attempt to break into this room don't be afraid to shoot."
"Why should the men wish to attack us, sir?" asked Patsy wonderingly.