At dinner that night little was said, till Maggie asked with a choking effort: "Did you see Foley to-day?" "No," said Tom. He ate a mouthful, then laid down knife and fork, and looked firmly into her face. "I didn't try to see him. And I might as well tell you, Maggie, that I'm not going to see him." "You'll not see him?" she asked in a dry voice. "You'll not see him?" "Most likely it would not do any good if I did see him. You mark what I say, Maggie," he went on, hopefully. "Foley thinks I'm down, and you do, too, but in a few months things'll be better than they ever were. We may see some hard times--but in the end!" "You were just that certain last week. But how'll we live?" "I'll find some sort of a temporary job." She looked at him tensely; then she rose abruptly and carried her indignant grief into the kitchen. She had decided that he must be borne with. But would he never, never come to his senses! After he had finished his dinner, which had been ready earlier than usual, Tom hurried to the Barrys', and found the family just leaving the table. He rapidly sketched his new plan. "You're runnin' again' Foley again in six months is all right, but where's the use our tryin' to get more money?" grumbled Pete. "Suppose we fight hard an' win the strike. What then? We get nothin' out of it. Foley won't let us work." "Oh, talk like a man, Pete!" requested Mrs. Barry. "You know you don't think that way." "If we win the strike, with Foley against it, it'll be the end of him," said Tom, in answer to Pete. "But suppose things turn out with Foley in control o' the strike?" questioned Barry. "That won't happen. But if it would, he'd run it all on the square. And he'd manage it well, too. You know what he has done. Well, he'd do the same again if he was forced into a fight. "It won't be hard to work the men up to make the demand for an increase," Tom went on. "All the men who voted for me are in favor of it, and a lot more, too. All we've got to do is to stir them up a bit, and get word to them to come out on a certain night. Foley'll hardly dare put up a fight against us in the open." "Whoever runs the strike, we certainly ought to have more money," said Mrs. Barry decidedly. "And the bosses can afford to give us more," declared Tom. "They've never made more than they have the last two years." "Sure, they could divide a lot o' the money we've made with us, an' still not have to button up their own clothes," averred Mrs. Barry. "Oh, I dunno," said Pete. "They're hard up, just the same as us. What's a hundred thousand when you've got to spend money on yachts, champagne an' Newport, an' other necessities o' life? The last time I was at the Baxters', Mrs. Baxter was settin' at the kitchen table figgerin' how she could make over the new dress she had last summer an' wonderin' how she'd ever pay the gas bill." Mrs. Barry grunted. "I got a picture o' her!"