There was the sound of several feet, and then Mrs. Barry came in and after her Barry and Pete. "Say, Tom, I'm just tickled to death!" she cried, with a smile of ruddy delight. She held out a stubby, pillowy hand and shook Tom's till her black straw hat, that the two preceding summers had done their best to turn brown, was bobbing over one ear. "Every rib I've got is laughin'. How're you feelin'?" "First rate, except for my ankle. How're you, boys?" He shook hands with Barry and Pete. "Well, you want to lay still as a bed-slat for a week or two. A sprain ain't nothin' to monkey with, I tell you what. Mrs. Keating, you see't your husband keeps still." "Yes," said Maggie, setting chairs for the three about the couch, and herself slipping into one at the couch's foot. Mrs. Barry sank back, breathing heavily, and wiped her moist face. "I said to the men this mornin' that I'd give 'em their breakfast, but I wouldn't wash a dish till I'd been over to see you. Tom, you've come out on top, all right! An' nobody's gladder'n me. Unless, o' course, your wife." Maggie gave a little nod, and her hands clasped each other in her lap. "It's easy to guess how proud you must be o' your man!" Mrs. Barry's red face beamed with sympathetic exultation. Maggie gulped; her strained lips parted: "Of course I'm proud." "I wish you could 'a' heard the boys last night, Tom," cried Pete. "Are they for you? Well, I should say! You'll be made walkin' delegate at the very next meetin', sure." "Well, I'd like to know what else they could do?" Mrs. Barry demanded indignantly. "With him havin' fought an' sacrificed as he has for 'em!" "He can have anything he wants now. Tokens of appreciation? They'll be givin' you a gold watch an' chain for every pocket." "But what'll they think after they've read the papers?" asked Tom. "I saw how the bosses' fairy story goes. But the boys ain't kids, an' they ain't goin' to swallow all that down. They'll think about the same as me, an' I think them bosses ain't such holy guys as they say they are. I think there was somethin' else we don't know nothin' about, or else the bosses'd 'a' gone right through with the game. An' the boys'll not give credit to a boss when they can give credit to a union man. You can bet your false teeth on that. Anyhow, Tom, you could fall a big bunch o' miles an' still be in heaven." "Now, the strike, Tom; what d'you think about the strike?" Mrs. Barry asked. Before Tom could answer there was another knock. Maggie slipped away and ushered in Petersen, who hung back abashed at this gathering. "Hello, Petersen," Tom called out. "Come in. How are you?" Petersen advanced into the room, took a chair and sat holding his derby hat on his knees with both hands. "I be purty good,--oh, yah," he answered, smiling happily. "I be movin' to-day." "Where?" Tom asked. "But you haven't met Mrs. Barry, have you?"