A thin, flushed girl stepped out of the crowd and faced her.
"Say, who is 'we'?"
"Why, all of us, the women of Whitewater."
"How are we goin' to repay the women of Whitewater fer tearin' down our homes an' takin' away our jobs? Ain't there somethin' we can do to show our gratitood?" the new speaker asked earnestly.
"Go to it—let her have it, Mamie Flynn!" cried the crowd.
"Oh, but you mustn't look at it that way! We must all make some sacrifices——"
"Cut that slush! What do you know about sacrifices? I'm on to you. You're one of them uptown reformers. What do you know about sacrifices? Ye got a sure place to sleep, ain't ye? Ye've got a full belly an' a husband to give ye spendin' money, ain't ye? Don't ye come down here gittin' our jobs away an' then fergettin' all about us!"
There was a buzz of agreement and an undertone of anger which to an experienced speaker would have been ominous. But Geneviève blundered on: "We only want to help you——"
"We don't want yer help ner yer advice. You keep yer hands off our business! Do yer preachin' uptown—that's where they need it. Ask the landlords of Kentwood and the stockholders in the munition factories to make some sacrifices, an' see where that gits ye! But don't ye come down here, a-spyin' on us, ye dirty——"
The last words were happily lost as the crowd of girls closed in on Geneviève with cries of "Spy!" "Scab!" "Throw her out!"