So it was agreed, and the committee set out for the company’s office, Wauchope carrying in his hand the written demands of the meeting. Behind the committee marched the crowd in a solid mass; they packed the street in front of the office, while the heroic seven went up the steps and passed into the building. Wauchope made inquiry for Mr. Cartwright, and a clerk took in the message. They stood waiting; and meanwhile, one of the office-people, coming in from the street, beckoned to Hal. He had an envelope in his hand, and gave it over without a word. It was addressed, “Joe Smith,” and Hal opened it, and found within a small visiting card, at which he stared. “Edward S. Warner, Jr.”! For a moment Hal could hardly believe the evidence of his eyesight. Edward in North Valley! Then, turning the card over, he read, in his brother’s familiar handwriting, “I am at Cartwright’s house. I must see you. The matter concerns Dad. Come instantly.” Fear leaped into Hal’s heart. What could such a message mean? He turned quickly to the committee and explained. “My father’s an old man, and had a stroke of apoplexy three years ago. I’m afraid he may be dead, or very ill. I must go.” “It’s a trick!” cried Wauchope excitedly. “No, not possibly,” answered Hal. “I know my brother’s handwriting. I must see him.” “Well,” declared the other, “we’ll wait. We’ll not see Cartwright until you get back.” Hal considered this. “I don’t think that’s wise,” he said. “You can do what you have to do just as well without me.” “But I wanted you to do the talking!” “No,” replied Hal, “that’s your business, Wauchope. You are the president of the union. You know what the men want, as well as I do; you know what they complain of. And besides, there’s not going to be any need of talking with Cartwright. Either he’s going to grant our demands or he isn’t.” They discussed the matter back and forth. Mary Burke insisted that they were pulling Hal away just at the critical moment! He laughed as he answered. She was as good as any man when it came to an argument. If Wauchope showed signs of weakening, let her speak up! SECTION 10. So Hal hurried off, and climbed the street which led to the superintendent’s house, a concrete bungalow set upon a little elevation overlooking the camp. He rang the bell, and the door opened, and in the entrance stood his brother. Edward Warner was eight years older than Hal; the perfect type of the young American business man. His figure was erect and athletic, his features were regular and strong, his voice, his manner, everything about him spoke of quiet decision, of energy precisely directed. As a rule, he was a model of what the tailor’s art could do, but just now there was something abnormal about his attire as well as his manner. Hal’s anxiety had been increasing all the way up the street. “What’s the matter with Dad?” he cried. “Dad’s all right,” was the answer--“that is, for the moment.” “Then what--?”