The supper-hour was at hand, and the pseudo-Mrs. Zamboni emerged and toddled down the street. As she passed into the dining-room of the boarding-house, men looked at her, but no one spoke. It was the stage of the meal where everybody was grabbing and devouring, in the effort to get the best of his grabbing and devouring neighbours. The black-clad figure went to the far end of the room; there was a vacant chair, and the figure pulled it back from the table and climbed upon it. Then a shout rang through the room: “Boys! Boys!” The feeders looked up, and saw the widow’s weeds thrown back, and their leader, Joe Smith, gazing out at them. “Boys! I’ve come with a message from the union!” There was a yell; men leaped to their feet, chairs were flung back, falling with a crash to the floor. Then, almost instantly, came silence; you could have heard the movement of any man’s jaws, had any man continued to move them. “Boys! I’ve been down to Pedro and seen the union people. I knew the bosses wouldn’t let me come back, so I dressed up, and here I am!” It dawned upon them, the meaning of this fantastic costume; there were cheers, laughter, yells of delight. But Hal stretched out his hands, and silence fell again. “Listen to me! The bosses won’t let me talk long, and I’ve something important to say. The union leaders say we can’t win a strike now.” Consternation came into the faces before him. There were cries of dismay. He went on: “We are only one camp, and the bosses would turn us out, they’d get in scabs and run the mines without us. What we must have is a strike of all the camps at once. One big union and one big strike! If we walked out now, it would please the bosses; but we’ll fool them--we’ll keep our jobs, and keep our union too! You are members of the union, you’ll go on working for the union! Hooray for the North Valley union!” For a moment there was no response. It was hard for men to cheer over such a prospect! Hal saw that he must touch a different chord. “We mustn’t be cowards, boys! We’ve got to keep our nerve! I’m doing my part--it took nerve to get in here! In Mrs. Zamboni’s clothes, and with two pillows stuffed in front of me!” He thumped the pillows, and there was a burst of laughter. Many in the crowd knew Mrs. Zamboni--it was what comedians call a “local gag.” The laughter spread, and became a gale of merriment. Men began to cheer: “Hurrah for Joe! You’re the girl! Will you marry me, Joe?” And so, of course, it was easy for Hal to get a response when he shouted, “Hurrah for the North Valley union!”