"How are we goin' to repay the women of Whitewater fer tearin' down our homes an' takin' away our jobs? Ain't there somethin' we can do to show our gratitood?" the new speaker asked earnestly. "Go to it--let her have it, Mamie Flynn!" cried the crowd. "Oh, but you mustn't look at it that way! We must all make some sacrifices----" "Cut that slush! What do you know about sacrifices? I'm on to you. You're one of them uptown reformers. What do you know about sacrifices? Ye got a sure place to sleep, ain't ye? Ye've got a full belly an' a husband to give ye spendin' money, ain't ye? Don't ye come down here gittin' our jobs away an' then fergettin' all about us!" There was a buzz of agreement and an undertone of anger which to an experienced speaker would have been ominous. But Genevieve blundered on: "We only want to help you----" "We don't want yer help ner yer advice. You keep yer hands off our business! Do yer preachin' uptown--that's where they need it. Ask the landlords of Kentwood and the stockholders in the munition factories to make some sacrifices, an' see where that gits ye! But don't ye come down here, a-spyin' on us, ye dirty----" The last words were happily lost as the crowd of girls closed in on Genevieve with cries of "Spy!" "Scab!" "Throw her out!" They had nearly torn her clothes off before E. Eliot was among them. She sprang up on the chair and shouted: "Girls--here, hold on a minute." There was a hush. Some one called out: "It's Miss E. Eliot." "Listen a minute. Don't waste your time getting mad at this girl. She's a friend of mine. And you may not believe me, but she means all right." "What's she pussyfootin' in here for?" "Don't you know the story of the man from Pittsburgh who died and went on?" cried E. Eliot. "Some kindly spirit showed him round the place, and the newcomer said: 'Well, I don't think heaven's got anything on Pittsburgh.' 'This isn't heaven!' said the spirit." There was a second's pause, and then the laugh came. "Now, this girl has just waked up to the fact that Whitewater isn't heaven, and she thought you'd like to hear the news! I'll take the poor lamb home, put cracked ice on her head and let her sleep it off." They laughed again. "Go to it," said the erstwhile spokeswoman for the working girls. E. Eliot called them a cheery good-night. The factory girls drifted away, in little groups, leaving Genevieve, bedraggled and hysterical, clinging to her rescuer. "They would have killed me if you hadn't come!" she gasped. E. Eliot thought quickly. "Stand here in the shadow of the fence till I come back," she said. "It will be all right. I've got to run into the office and send a telephone message. I have a pal there who will let me do it." "You--you won't be long?" It was clear that the nerve of Mrs. Remington was quite gone. "I won't be gone five minutes." E. Eliot was as good as her word.