"We must elect an executive council of four who shall sit as a court of last resort in settling the question of the ability of each comrade and the work to which he shall be assigned. Under our temporary charter the general manager will preside over this court and cast the deciding vote. Nominations are in order for the other four. We want two men and two women in this council. In all our deliberations woman shall have equal voice with man." The Bard made a speech of protest against the action about to be taken, in the sacred name of liberty. "This act is the first step on the road to a tyranny more monstrous than any ever devised by capitalism!" he shouted, with hands uplifted, his long hair flying in wild disorder. Tom Mooney, an old miner, who had met Norman and become his friend during a visit to one of his father's mines, sprang to his feet and made a rush for the excited poet. Confronting him a moment, Tom inquired: "Kin I ax ye a few questions?" "Certainly. As many as you like." "Kin ye cook?" "I cannot." "Kin ye wash?" "No!" "Kin ye scrub?" "No, sir." "Ever swing a hod?" "I have not." "Ever milk a cow?" "No!" "Are ye willin' to learn them things?" "I didn't come here for that purpose." "Then, what t' 'ell ye kickin' about?" Tom cried, and, glaring at the poet, he thundered fiercely: "Set down!" The man of song was so disconcerted by this unexpected onslaught, and by the roars of laughter which greeted Tom's final order, that he dropped into his seat, muttering incoherent protests, and the balloting for the executive council proceeded at once amid universal good humour. A dozen names were proposed as candidates, and the four receiving the highest votes were declared duly elected. The election resulted in the choice of Herman Wolf, Catherine, Barbara Bozenta, and Thomas Mooney. Tom was amazed at his sudden promotion to high office, and insisted on resigning in favour of a man of better education. Norman caught his big horny hand and pressed it. "Not on your life, Tom. You've made a hit. The people like your hard horse-sense. You will make a good judge. Besides, I need you. You're a man I can depend on every day in the year." "I'll stick ef you need me, boy--but I hain't fitten, I tell ye." "I'll vouch for your fitness--sit down!" The last command Norman thundered into Tom's ears in imitation of his order to the poet, and the old miner, with a grin, dropped into his seat. As Norman was about to declare the meeting adjourned, the steward ascended the platform and whispered a message. The young leader turned to the crowd and lifted his hand for silence.