"You shut up, Pete!" Mrs. Barry looked at Tom. "I suppose you're wife'll help in this, too?" Tom looked steadily at the scroll in Mrs. Barry's red rug. "I'm afraid not," he said at length. "She--she couldn't stand climbing the stairs." It was after eleven o'clock when Tom left the Barrys' and started through the quiet cross street toward a car line. A man stepped from an adjoining doorway, and fell in a score of paces behind him. Tom heard rapid steps drawing nearer and nearer, but it was not till the man had gained to within a pace that it occurred to him perhaps he was being followed. Then it was too late. His arm was seized in a grip of steel. The street was dark and empty. Thoughts of Foley's entertainment committee flashed through his head. He whirled about and struck out fiercely with his free arm. His wrist was caught and held by a grip like the first. He was as helpless as if handcuffed. "I vant a yob," a savage voice demanded. Tom recognized the tall, angular figure. "Hello, Petersen! What d'you want?" "I vant a yob." "A job. How can I give you a job?" "You take to-day ma yob avay. You give me a yob!" In a flash Tom understood. The Swede held him accountable for the incident of the morning, and was determined to force another job from him. Was the man crazy? At any rate 'twould be wiser to parley than to bring on a conflict with one possessed of such strength as those hands betokened. So he made no attempt to break loose. "I can't give you a job, I say." "You take it avay!" the Swede said, with fierce persistence. "You make me leave!" "It's your own fault. If you want to work, why don't you get into the union?" Tom felt a convulsive shiver run through the man's big frame. "De union? Ah, de union! Ev'ryvare I ask for yob. Ev'ryvare! 'You b'long to union?' de boss say. 'No,' I say. De boss give me no yob. De union let me not vork! De union----!" His hands gripped tighter in his impotent bitterness. "Of course the union won't let you work." "Vy? I am strong!--yes. I know de vork." Tom felt that no explanation of unionism, however lucid, would quiet this simple-minded excitement. So he said nothing. "Vy should I not vork? Dare be yobs. I know how to vork. But no! De union! I mak dis mont' two days. I mak seven dollar. Seven dollar!" He fairly shook Tom, and a half sob broke from his lips. "How de union tank I live? My family?--me? Seven dollar?" Tom recognized with a thrill that which he was hearing. It was the man's soul crying out in resentment and despair. "But you can't blame the union," he said weakly, feeling that his answer did not answer. "You tank not?" Petersen cried fiercely. "You tank not?" He was silent a brief space, and his breath surged in and out as though he had just paused from running. Suddenly he freed Tom's wrists and set his right hand into Tom's left arm. "Come! I show you vot de union done."