"Last strike," said Carrie, "one of those union girls was sent out to sell copies of a special edition of The Call for the benefit of the strikers. She hadn't had anything to eat for three days. One man gave her a five-dollar bill for a single paper. Nobody saw him give it; she didn't have to account for it; and she was nearly starved; but she came back and turned in that whole five dollars to the fund. That was one of the girls I was representing this afternoon. Do you suppose I could go back on such girls? Do you suppose I could help myself when I knew it was hurting the others?"
Katie did not immediately reply, but her blue eyes shone. Presently she asked:
"Picket-duty, now, for yours?"
"I began it right away. I spoke to one scab as she came out—just asked her wouldn't she join the union for her own good and ours—just laid my hand on her wrist—but they had the cops ready and their own strong-arm men, and had three of them beating me for my pains."
"Pinched?"
"Of course. The magistrate let me off with a lecture on the rights of every girl to work for starvation-wages if she felt like doing it and like making others starve.—But next time it will be a fine or the workhouse."
Katie had begun to busy herself with the preparations for her meal. She had warmed some coffee on the gas-stove and taken from the cupboard a roll and a few slices of dried beef.
"Look here," she said, stopping in the midst of this task; "how much money have you got?"
"Oh, I'm all right, thanks."
"Maybe you are, but you might as well be better. Now, the while the strike lasts, just you give up that room acrost the hall an' come over here with me."