The girl sang, and the grimy, tired men, listening, felt, each one, something that had been hard softening inside of him, something catch in his throat, a contraction around the eyes. Eric watched, well pleased. “Will you all join in the second verse?” he spoke. Again the girl lifted the strong and sweet tones, and into them were gathered, following, not obscuring the volume of her voice, half a thousand voices of men, rolling sweet thunder through the buildings where only the hum of machinery, on other days, filled the air. “It’s good dope. It works to a charm,” Eric commented silently, as the big music ended and the ranks of men stood touched, open-souled, ready for an impression. He lifted himself to the running-board of the car and the one halting step laid a claim on every man there before he said a word. This chap could not fight; fate had tied him with lameness, but he was doing the best he could for his country. One read his speeches every day in the papers. His sister looked at him, proud of his height and beauty and finished accent, and the straight, strong English which came from his lips, proudest of all of an intangible something which she felt, and which all these men felt, the secret of the charm of young Eric Mannering. It was an unphrased assertion that he and they were brothers in a cause so large that all differences of caste were straws on an ocean. Eric Mannering, the sixth, grandson of an ambassador, great-grandson of a governor, with his air of race, his speech of breeding, cared most to be what all these workmen were--American. He talked as an American to Americans, and he talked from an absolute sincerity, and the trained brain and speech which were vehicles for his words were good, to him, because they might serve the cause of America. By some force of reaction both the Mannering children were democrats, and as the brother spoke the sister approved. Yet she did not listen intelligently at first. Eric was saying things about a good investment, four per cent only, but safe as the granite hills. A good investment. It did not interest her. She was not going to buy bonds. She was going to New York to learn to sing, to make a fortune with her voice. But listen--Eric was talking about--the flag. Still shaken with the thrill of leading those five hundred deep voices, shaken with the tremendous meaning of the words she had sung, still startled with that unexpected wind which had swept her upward into the colors against the sky, as Eric spoke she caught her breath and listened. And behold his words were a bugle-call. This was what the papers meant by Eric’s power of stirring audiences. Rebellious, half angry, she realized that he was stirring her. The papers had been full of the patriotic duty of buying Liberty Bonds; she knew that public men were urging the people, rich and poor, to put their savings into the loan, to help the country raise money to use for the war. The campaign left her cold. She had saved