There was a startled pelt of applause in one corner of the room. It did not spread; the others were too interested, too surprised, to pass judgment. "What ought you to do? Your referendum will decide. If I were in your places, there is only one thing I could do--and that is, strike! Strike against the company, and me--yes! Strike for the enforcement of the weak-kneed mining law, and for a better one! Strike for more pay, shorter hours, and your organization! Fight back! Unite"--his long, tense arms reached out, and drew in together in a clenching grasp--"bring together your force as one man, and there is no power in the world that can stand against you!" This was familiar. They howled agreement. "There are two ways you must strike. Part of the blame lies with that legislature at Jackson. You elected them; you can retire 'em. Strike politically. Unite at the polls--there'll be a labor ticket, the socialist ticket, for every office--drive it home to victory! Then you will have laws which would make such an explosion an impossibility!" There were a few mock groans from the _Voice of Labor_ crowd, but the majority still sat silent. "You have a quicker weapon, on the industrial field--a strike. We've all read the announcement of the company's action; my vote was the only one against it at the directors' meeting. You must strike to teach your masters what they can't do! Strike for justice to the thirty men maimed and crippled in the cause of profits! Strike for the twenty-three families who are the worst sufferers from this hell. Yes, twenty-three, Mr. Chairman; I received phone word that Hank Burns died of his injuries at six-thirty to-night." There was a faintly rising moan of anger at this. "If you unite, as I believe you will, there is no power in the world that can stop you!" He went back to his seat, trembling, his forehead moist with frigid sweat. Jane's rapturous hands caught his; he felt fully repaid. The meeting broke up in an uproar of enthusiasm. As he started for the Andersons' with Jane, the mad spell of a June moon-bright night caught and tortured him, until it was pain to think of letting her go. The cool darkness rushed by on both sides. Out of the crevasses of big buildings they passed into the more open stretches of low urban homes. The country club road invited; they slid over gentle rises until they had their fill of tree rustle and moon shimmer. Against the sky they traced the soft outlines of the swan and the lyre swung to the East over the dull rose glow of unsleeping furnaces; but the persistent flood from the moon dulled even Vega to a mild glimmer. At length the car whirred up the last hill, and stopped in front of the darkened house where she was to sleep.