"A scene!" Ferguson exclaimed, savagely. "Why, I'll--" What the irate Yankee might have done was never revealed, for he was interrupted by Cicily, who had now recovered her poise, so that she spoke pleasantly, favoring the tumultuous parent with her sweetest smile. "Sadie and the other ladies came to call on me, Mr. Ferguson," she exclaimed, well aware that this announcement left the mystery of the women's presence as it had been before. Mrs. McMahon, however, shed a ray of light on the puzzle. "Faith, and 'tis that," she agreed, glibly. "We just dropped in for a cup of tea with a member of our club." It was Hamilton who now interrupted further questions by the three husbands. He had been nervously fidgeting where he stood, and at last his impatience found vent in words. "I'm not interested in these domestic affairs," he snapped. "If you men have anything to say to your wives and daughters, take them home, and say it to them there. This is not the place for it. There's only one thing that I have time to listen to from you." Schmidt waddled forward a pace beyond his fellows, and addressed his former employer with the dignity born of constituted authority. "Well, Mr. Hamilton," he said ponderously, with his accent more pronounced than usual by reason of the emotion under which he labored, "I speak as the chairman of the committee. So, sir, you will listen to us right here and now." He paused for a moment to wipe the perspiration from his forehead with an adequately huge handkerchief. Ferguson seized on the opportunity thus given to voice the rancor that was in his heart. "Yes, yes," he cried excitedly, "you want to understand that we're men! We're striking--yes! But we're fighting you in the open, like men. And we've come to tell you that we're not going to stand for the way you fight.... Is that plain enough for you, Mr. Hamilton?" The amazement of Hamilton over the charge thus brought against him was undoubtedly genuine. He stepped forward as if to strike, but checked himself almost instantly. There was no longer any look of boyishness in the drawn fare, with the chin thrust forward belligerently, the brows drawn low, the eyes blazing. "The way I fight!" he repeated challengingly, menacingly. Schmidt, having restored the handkerchief to its pocket, took up the accusation. "Yes," he declared, with surly spitefulness. "I have been in a dozen strikes, and this is the first time any employer ever attacked me in my affections--through my Frieda." The German's narrow eyes were alight with venomous resentment, as he glowered at Hamilton. Astounded by this attack, Hamilton forgot rage in stark bewilderment. "What on earth do you--can you--mean?" he stormed.