their heads. A little cloud of tobacco smoke hung about the room.
There were few women present, and most of the men were smoking. On the
whole they were a very earnest gathering. There were very few there who
were not deeply interested. Julia was listening to every word, her head
resting upon her hand, her lips a little parted, her eyes full of
smouldering fires. At the end of Docker's speech, one of the Union
officials got up on his feet. It was for the men themselves to decide,
he said. They had subscribed the money; it was for them to say whether
it should be used. Was the moment propitious for a blow on behalf of
their rights? If they thought so, then let it be war. If they asked
for his advice, they were welcome to it. His advice was to fight. The
masters had refused their reasonable ultimatum. Let the masters try and
carry out their contracts without work people! That was his way of
looking at it.

There was a rumble of applause. The militants were certainly in the
majority. A man got up from one of the front rows.

"I propose," he said, "that we strike to-morrow. They are working us as
hard as they can in shifts on special jobs now, in case they should get
left. Every hour we work makes it better for them. I say 'Strike!'"

There was a thunder of applause. A ballot box was brought and placed on
a table in front of the platform.

"They will strike," Aaron muttered,--"three thousand of them!
Splendid!"

Maraton shook his head.