"I understand all that," said McIver. "The Interpreter didn't send you--oh, no--he simply made you think that you ought to go. That's the way the tricky old scoundrel does everything, from what I am told." She looked at him steadily. "Do you think, Jim, the Interpreter's way is such a bad way to get people to do things?" "Forgive me," he begged humbly, "but it makes me wild to think what might have happened to you. It's all right now, though. I'll take you home, and in the future you can turn such work over to the regular charity organizations." He was crossing the room for his hat and overcoat. "Jove! I can't believe yet that you have actually been in such a mess and all by your lonesome, too." She was about to speak when he stopped, and, as if struck by a sudden thought, said, quickly, "But Helen, you haven't told me--how did you know I was here?" She explained hurriedly, "The doctor sent a taxi for me and I telephoned your house from a drug store. Your man told me you expected to be late at the office and would dine at the club. I phoned the club and when I learned that you were not there I came straight on. I--I had to see you to-night, Jim. And I was afraid if I phoned you here at the office you wouldn't let me come." McIver evidently saw from her manner that there was still something in the amazing situation that they had not yet touched upon. Coming back to his desk, he said, "I don't think I understand, Helen. Why were you in such a hurry to see me? Besides, don't you know that I would have gone to you, at once, anywhere?" "I know, Jim," she returned, slowly, as one approaching a difficult subject, "but I couldn't tell you what I had seen. I couldn't talk to you about these things at home." "I understand," he said, gently, "and I am glad that you wanted to come to me. But you are tired and nervous and all unstrung, now. Let me take you home and to-morrow we will talk things over." As if he had not spoken, she said, steadily, "I wanted to tell you about the terrible, terrible condition of those poor people, Jim. I thought you ought to know about them exactly as they are and not in a vague, indefinite way as I knew about them before I went to see for myself." The man moved uneasily. "I do know about the condition of these people, Helen. It is exactly what I expected would happen." She was listening carefully. "You expected them to--to be hungry and cold and sick like that, Jim?" "Such conditions are always a part of every strike like this," he returned. "There is nothing unusual about it, and it is the only thing that will ever drive these cattle back to their work. They simply have to be starved to it." "But John says--" He interrupted. "Please, Helen--I know all about what John says. I know where he gets it, too--he gets it from the Interpreter who gave you this crazy notion of going alone into the Flats to investigate personally. And John's ideas are just about as practical." "But the mothers and children, Jim?"