There was also the hostility of the American Federation of Labor to overcome. Within that great organization the same struggle between industrialism and the old-fashioned craft-unionism was waxing more bitter every year. A bitter opposition was growing against the rule of Samuel Gompers and his _satellites_. No one denied that this group had done great service to the cause of labor--ten, fifteen, twenty years ago. But the younger union men--especially those most in sympathy with Socialism or the I. W. W.--said these "leaders" were getting old, that they were out of touch with the times. Naturally these leaders did not look with favor on the spread of such ideas. Yetta and her friends saw at once that their only hope of success lay in appealing to the rank and file. So during the first days of the convention, while the official delegates were denouncing the principles of Industrial Unionism, Yetta spoke at noon factory meetings, two or three times each evening, and devoted almost all of _The Clarion's_ "Labor Page" to the same subject. This is the secret of democratic politics. If the mass of the people can be stirred into watching and controlling their representatives, Democracy is safe. The mass of the garment workers believed in federation. They made their wishes heard even in the Convention Hall,--it is rare, indeed, that the will of the people control such assemblies,--and when the crucial vote was taken, the resolution of the industrial unionists was carried by an unexpectedly large majority. For close to five years, Yetta had been working towards this end. At first she had been laughed at and snubbed. The victory made her wild with joy--but also she felt very tired. The meeting did not break up till after one in the morning. The last week had been a ceaseless rush. She felt that if she went to sleep she would not wake up for a month or so. It was important to have the story in the morrow's _Clarion_, and Isadore ought to write an editorial on the victory. She decided to go to the office, hammer out the "copy," leave a note for Isadore, and then go home to sleep with a clear conscience. The elevator was not running at this hour, and Yetta had to climb up the six flights to the _Clarion's_ loft in the dark. There is something eerie and weird about a deserted office. The feverish activity of the day haunts the place like a ghost, even in the stillest hours of the night. Although Yetta knew the room was empty there was a very distinct feeling that some one was there. She was not afraid of the dark, but it was a decided relief when, after much fumbling about, she found the way to her table and turned on the light. The electric globe hung low, and the light was so concentrated, by a green glass shade, that it shone glaringly on the table and typewriter, but did not illumine the rest of the room at all.