In November a strike of the street-railway employees broke out. The company, which had applied for and obtained a seven-cent fare six months earlier, had now asked for the right to raise it to ten cents. The city council refused; whereupon the company, alleging its inability to carry on at even a modest profit under the existing costs, declared a twenty per cent. cut in wages, and the employees struck. The clash was fierce and there was much violence. The company imported strike-breakers from Chicago, they were mobbed, there were deaths, the militia was called out, and a few empty cars with shattered windows ran occasionally up and down the city streets. Stacey was not particularly interested, having other things to think about. He barely glanced at the news headlines and smiled ironically as he did so, knowing that Colin Jeffries, who had a controlling interest in the stock of the street-railway company, also virtually owned the evening (Republican) paper and was engaged in many business enterprises with the owner of the morning (Democratic) paper. As for the editorials, he would no more have read them than he would have read the latest novel by Harold Bell Wright. But sometimes his father read them aloud at table in a tone of fierce assent, and thus Stacey learned that they were all about “one hundred per cent. Americanism” and the duty of labor to yield something, just as capital was yielding something. However, one afternoon Edwards, whom Stacey had not seen for a week, suddenly entered the office. “Hello!” cried Stacey cordially. “Come in. Where have you been?”—then broke off at sight of the other’s appearance. Edwards was unshaven and rather dirty, and his eyes glowed darkly in his tense face. He shut the door behind him, then sat down opposite Stacey at the desk. “I want to talk to you, Carroll,” he said. “It’s about the strike.” “All right,” said Stacey. “I hardly know anything about it, haven’t followed it.” Edwards’ eyes suddenly blazed. “No,” he cried, “of course not! What’s it all matter to _you_? _You’re_ all right! _You’re_ not your brother’s keeper! It—” “Now look here,” said Stacey, firmly but pleasantly enough, “cut out the class business, will you? You know that’s not the way you feel about me or you wouldn’t be coming here to see me. I haven’t a doubt but that the men are right in this strike, but the reason I’ve kept off the subject as much as possible is because I don’t see what in the world I can do about it, and I don’t know anything worse than futile sentimental sympathy.” “I apologize, Carroll,” Edwards returned moodily. “I didn’t mean that, of course. And I’d probably better apologize in advance for anything else I may break loose and say. I haven’t had much sleep lately.” “That’s all right,” Stacey replied. “Go as far as you like.”