It was near five in the afternoon when Yetta reached the brown-stone front which held the offices of the Woman's Trade Union League. It had once been a comfortable residence. But Business, ever crowding northward on Manhattan Island, had driven homes away. The house seemed dwarfed between two modern buildings of twelve and eighteen stories. In what had formerly been the "parlor," Yetta found a rather barren, very businesslike office. Two stenographers were industriously hammering their typewriters, but the chair behind the big roll-top desk was empty. "Hello," one of the girls greeted her, hardly looking up from her notes. "What do you want?" "I want to see Miss Train." "Sit down. You'll have to wait. Advisory Council." She jerked her head to one side to indicate the double doors which in more aristocratic days had led to the dining-room. It was anything but a cordial welcome. To be sure the two girls were "organized." Miss Train had persuaded them to form a union. One was president and the other was secretary, and there were about six other members. They had done it to please her, just as they would have done anything to please her. Nevertheless they felt themselves on a very much higher social plane than mere shop girls. Yetta sat down disconsolate. She had not expected to have to wait. She did not appreciate the overwhelming importance of an Advisory Council. In fact, she did not know what it was. And she did not think that there could be anything more important than the strike in her shop. In a few minutes her impatience overcame her timidity. "Say," she said, getting up and coming over to the girl who had spoken to her. "You tell Miss Train that I'm here. It's important--about a strike." "Humph," the stenographer snorted, "skirt-finisher?" "No. I ain't a skirt-finisher. I work bei vests. It's a new strike. Miss Train'll want to know about it right away." "What do you think?" the stenographer asked her companion. "Can't disturb the Advisory Council, can I?" The two girls cross-questioned Yetta severely, but at last gave in to her insistence. One of them knocked at the double doors. They were opened from the inside a couple of inches and Mabel looked out. "We've struck," Yetta cried, rushing towards her. Mabel turned towards the occupants of the inner room and asked to be excused a moment. "I'm very busy just now," she said as she sat down beside Yetta. "Tell me about it quickly."