On Sunday he went in to the meetings, and heard Paul make another speech. Paul, always sombre looking, was now gaunt from several weeks of little food and less sleep, and there was a fury of passion in his voice; he told about his trip to the other fields, and how there was no justice anywhere—the authorities of town and county and state were simply pawns of the operators, doing everything possible to hold the men down and break their organization. In this white flame of suffering Paul’s spirit had been tempered to steel, and the crowd of workers shared this process, and took new vows of solidarity; Bunny felt the thrill of a great mass experience, and yearned to be part of it, and then shrunk back, like the young man in the Bible story who had too many possessions. Paul had seen him in the crowd, and after the meeting sought him out. “I want to talk to you,” he said, and they strolled away from the others, and Paul, who had no time to waste, came directly to the point: “See here, I want you to let my sister alone.” “Let her alone!” cried the other, and stopped short in his tracks, and stared at Paul. “Why, what do you mean?” “Meelie tells me you’ve been up there at the place a lot—you were there last evening with her.” “But Paul! Somebody had to stay with her!” “We’ll take care of ourselves; she could have come to father’s place. And I want you to understand, I won’t have any rich young fellows hanging round my sister.” “But Paul!” Bunny’s tone was one of shocked grief. “Truly, Paul, you’re utterly mistaken.” “I don’t want you to be mistaken about this one thing—if any fellow was to do any wrong to my sister, I’d kill him, just as sure as anything on earth.” “But Paul, I never dreamed of such a thing! Why, listen—I’ll tell you—I’m in love with a girl—a girl in school. Oh, honest, Paul, I’m terribly in love, and I—I couldn’t think of anybody else that way.” A quick blush had spread over Bunny’s face as he made this confession, and it was impossible not to realize that he was sincere. Paul’s voice became kinder. “Listen, son; you’re not a child any more, and neither is Ruth. I don’t doubt what you say—naturally, you’ll pick out some girl of your own class. But it mightn’t be that way with Ruth, she might get to be interested in you, and you ought to keep away.” Bunny didn’t know what to say to that—the idea was too new to him. “I wanted to know about the strike,” he explained; “and I’ve had no chance to talk with you at all. You can’t imagine how bad I feel, but I don’t know what to do.” He rushed on, crowding all his grief into a few sentences; he was torn in half, between his loyalty to his father and his sympathy for the men; it was a trap he was in, and what could he do? When Paul answered, his voice was hard again. “Your father is helping to keep these blackguards in the field, I understand.” “He’s paying assessments, if that’s what you mean. He’s under contract with the Federation—when he joined—”