“What’s on?” asked the picket in a whisper, while others of the strikers crowded around. “Is the jig up? Are we going to give in?” “There’s nothing new. I’ll know more when I come out. Perhaps Sartwell has something to propose; we haven’t.” The men drew back, with a simultaneous sigh that may have indicated relief, or perhaps disappointment. The sternness of their resolution to hold out did not increase under reduced strike pay. Their organization was disintegrating, rotting; each man knew it and was suspicious of his comrades. The heart had gone out of the fight. Marsten, crossing the deserted and silent yard, mounted the stairs, and rapped at the manager’s door. He found Sartwell alone, standing at his desk, with some papers before him. “Now, Marsten,” began the manager brusquely, turning from his desk, “you think I’ve asked you here to learn something from you, and you have firmly resolved to tell me nothing. That’s right. I like to see a man stick to his colours. We save the ship if we can; if she sinks we go down with her. You may be surprised then to know that I am not going to ask you a single question. That will relieve your mind and enable you to give full attention to what I have to tell you. I hope, however, that you will keep your word and remember the promise you made me a short time since on the street.” “What promise?” “Have you forgotten it? Perhaps you thought it was a threat. You said you would give the men the information you received. I hold you to that. To tell Gibbons is not necessarily to tell the men. You said you would let the men know.” “I will repeat your conversation to Gibbons and the committee.” “Ah, that’s not what you said. Neither Gibbons nor the committee were mentioned in our talk this morning.” “As near as I can recollect, I said I would use what information I received in the interests of the men.” “Quite so. I am as anxious about the men’s welfare as you are, and what I have to say to you must reach them. If you tell it to Gibbons and the committee, and if they do not pass it on to the men, as they will take precious good care not to do, I shall then learn whether you are a man of your word or not. The strikers meet to-night at the Salvation Hall. If Gibbons does not inform them what he will then know, I shall expect you to stand up in your place and add to the enlightenment of the situation. When you were here last I showed you a sheet of paper, at the top of which was written the resources, for the moment, of the Union. The remainder of the sheet was blank, but it is now filled up. It shows the expenditure, week by week, up to the last payment made to those on strike. If you cast your eye over this sheet, you will see that the Union is now bankrupt.” “If that is all you have to tell me, Mr. Sartwell, it is no news. The men already know they are depending on public subscriptions.” “And they still believe in Gibbons as a leader?” “Yes.”