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He turned away.
Half a dozen feet away he saw the Girl with the Grin--not grinning
now, but tense, pale, listening with her soul in her eyes, and with
the light of enthusiasm glowing beside it.
He walked to her side, touched her shoulder. ... It was
unpremeditated, something besides his own will had urged him to speak
to her.
"I don't understand it," he said, unsteadily.
"Your class never does," she replied, not sharply, not as a retort,
but merely as one states a fact to give enlightenment.
"My father," she said, "was killed leading the strikers at Homestead.
... The unions educated me."
"What is this man--this speaker--trying to do? Stir up a riot?"
She smiled. "No. He is an organizer sent by the National Federation.
... They're going to try to unionize our plant."
"Unionize?"
"Bonbright Foote, Incorporated," she said, "is a non-union shop."
"I didn't know," said he, after a brief pause. "I'm afraid I don't
understand these things. ... I suppose one should know about them if
he is to own a plant like ours.


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