Money could not be borrowed. Even the gold-bearing bonds of the United States fell under the ban of suspicion; and nothing but gold, gold, gold, had any intrinsic value. The new word which wrought such dire disaster was _Coin_, and the bank notes presented day after day by Wall street sapped the gold of the treasury until repudiation seemed inevitable. The one man upon whose shoulders the burden of disaster fell, took the oath of office as President of the United States, on March 4th, 1893, the responsibility of a bond issue being thrown upon him by the outgoing administration. The new official refused to declare his policy. Wall street wanted knowledge positive as to the issuance of bonds with which to buy gold to maintain the reserve. Day followed day before the tension was relieved by a bond issue, which was succeeded by other bond issues. The harm had been done. Financial institutions bridged the torrent at one place only to succumb and plunge into the yawning abyss at another. Stagnation followed disaster. Had the new administration declined to give gold for the "coin" notes and tendered silver, could any greater ruin have overtaken American commerce? Following in the wake of the ghastly spectre of commercial ruin, that cruel, remorseless and vindictive vulture, discontent, swooped down upon a far reaching industry, shrieked its defiant and soul curdling edict "_Strike_," and to the consternation of the world, labor organizations refused to temporize. The steam pulses ceased to beat, machinery came to a standstill, the great factory doors closed against wage earners and the stupendous battle between iron handed men of toil and iron gloved employer was on. Aided by sympathetic city and state officials the wage earners grew insolent and arbitrary. Pitying the unfortunate, misguided mechanic, artisan and laborer, the iron gloved employer awaited until the devouring flame of jealousy and strife consumed itself. It was under a broiling July sun that Chiquita and Jack visited the scene to see for themselves the effects of newsboys' hoarse cries, "_Extra! Extra!_ All about the bloody strike! The Stock Yards in danger!" Regiments of soldiers were bivouacked about the postoffice, on the lake front, and at the yards. Dismantled, untrucked, costly palace cars blocked railroad tracks from Van Buren street to the city limits. In the vicinity of Thirty-ninth street turbulent masses of muttering, riotous, eye-inflamed sympathizers congregated to watch the incoming United States troops from Fort Sheridan. Women, carrying babies, mingled with the angry, unruly, drink-maddened throng, urging, aye, even commanding more devastation, more wrecking of property. As the snail moving train of army equipment was pulled along the siding, coupling pins were drawn by the lawless, and as one car was recoupled another was detached. Soldiers, in United States uniform, endured insults of every nature.