"Sure?" Yetta asked. "Yes. His heart's beating. Feel it yourself." "I wouldn't touch the snake with my foot," Yetta said; "come on." "Nobody but the scab seen us," Mrs. Muscovitz said. "Come on," Yetta repeated. "Let's go to headquarters." Somehow she did not care whether any one had seen her or not. She had tried to kill a man and regretted that she had not succeeded. She had read stories of murderers' remorse. And now she knew they were lies. She would never have been sorry if she had killed that snake. As they were turning into Broadway, Mrs. Muscovitz, who was always looking back, suddenly gripped Yetta's arm. "He's getting up," she said. "There's a man helping him." They both peered back around the corner and saw Pick-Axe, with the aid of the stranger, painfully getting to his feet and rubbing his head in bewilderment. "Come on," Yetta said. "He'll begin to holler in a minute. I've got a dime. We'll take a car." They ran to catch a downtown car. They rode in silence, Mrs. Muscovitz nursing her aching arm and the bruise in her side. Yetta, surprised at the calm which had come after the sudden typhoon of passion, kept repeating, "I tried to kill him, I tried to kill him." At the headquarters they found Isadore Braun, just returned from attending to the morning's batch of arrested pickets in Essex Market Court. "Come into the committee-room," Yetta said to him quietly. "We've had some trouble." "What is it?" he asked professionally as he closed the door. "It's bad," Yetta replied. "Mrs. Muscovitz and I was picketing the Crown. And Pick-Axe--well, he jumped on her and--well--I knocked him senseless." Braun bounced out of his chair in amazement. "You? You knocked Pick-Axe senseless? You're joking." But Yetta shrugged her shoulders affirmatively. And Braun began to laugh. He knew Pick-Axe. Every few days he encountered the bully in court, listened to his cold-blooded perjuries. He knew, from the girls, of his brutality. And he thought he knew Yetta. Her first speech at the Skirt-Finishers' ball had attracted his attention. He had followed her development through the four weeks of the strike with increasing interest. Above all he had been impressed with her quiet, gentle ways. The idea that she had knocked out Pick-Axe was preposterous. But Mrs. Muscovitz added her affirmation. As he gradually got the details from them he grew more and more serious. It was the first time the enemy had had any real ground to charge them with violence. They would certainly make the most of it. "Do you think he knows your face?" he asked Yetta. "Sure." Braun realized that his question had been foolish. Yetta was the most-advertised, best-known person connected with the strike. "They'll be after you with a warrant," he said. Yetta shrugged her shoulders. "Were there any witnesses?" he asked. "Only the scab," Mrs. Muscovitz said. "She run away. I guess she's too scared to come back. And the man who helped him get up."