Genevieve looked distressed. "I'm sorry," she breathed, "I'm ashamed, but it _had_ to come out. I--I couldn't stand it any longer. I--beg everybody's pardon. I'm sure, it was awfully bad manners of me. Oh, dear--" she faltered, half turned, and, with a gesture of appeal toward Mrs. Brewster-Smith's slowly retreating back, moved as if to follow. "I wouldn't go after her," said E. Eliot. "Of course, you haven't had experience. You don't know how much self-restraint you've got to build up, but you're here now, and I'm sure Mr. Glass understands. _He's_ got to come up against all sorts of exasperations on _his_ job, too. He won't take any stock in Mrs. Brewster-Smith's trying to tie your husband up to these wretched conditions. "He's looking forward to seeing an honest, public-spirited district attorney get into office--even if your husband doesn't yet see that women have anything to say about it. They may heckle him in order to force him to come out on his intentions about the graft, and the eight-hour day, and the enforcement of the law, but they don't doubt his honesty. When he know's what's what, I guess the public can trust him to do the right thing. Only he's got to be shown." As she talked, giving Genevieve time to recover from her upheaval, the three investigators were plowing their way up and down byways equally depressing and insanitary. Silence ensued. Occasionally an expression of commiseration or condemnation escaped one or another of the party. Suddenly a raucous whistle tore the air, followed by another and another, declaring the armistice of the noon hour. Iron gates in the surrounding wall were opened, a stream of men and women poured out, grimed, sweat-streaked and voluble. The two women and their escort paused and watched the oncoming swarm of humanity. Around the corner, just ahead, strode a giant of a man, followed by a red-faced, unkempt, familiar figure--the man in charge of the renting office. The giant came forward threateningly. "What youse doing?" he growled. He jerked his jersey, displaying a brass badge, P. A. Guard. "Git outer here--git," he called. Mr. Glass stepped forward, displaying his Health Department permit. The giant laughed. "Say, sonny," he sneered, "that don't go--see. Them tin fakes don't git by. If you're one of them guys, you come here wit' McLaughlin, and youse can rubber. But we've had enough of this stuff. Them dames is no blind, neither. I'm guard for the owners here, and we ain't takin' no chances wit' trouble makers--git. Git a move on!" "The department," spluttered Glass, "shall hear of this." "That's all right. McLaughlin's the boss. Tell 'em not to send a kid to do a man's job." Genevieve was too amazed to protest. It was her first experience of defiance of Law and Order by Law and Order. Meanwhile, the first stragglers of the released army of toilers were nearly upon them. The giant observed their approach, and the look of menace deepened on his huge, congested face.