As Good ate his frugal dinner in a cheap restaurant, he debated seriously as to the best method of attaining his end. If he went straight to Judith and boldly requested her acquiescence in the course planned, he felt quite confident of securing it. But that did not appear to him sufficient. Her sympathies, thus gained, would be superficial. To be of lasting value they must be spontaneous. Finally he took his resolution and went to the telephone. "Miss Wynrod," he said immediately when she answered, "there is to be a meeting on the west side to-night that I'd like very much to have you attend. I am sure it will interest you. Will you come?" And when she hesitated momentarily he added, "I am quite sure you won't regret it." To his great delight she assented readily enough, and half an hour later he found himself in her limousine with her, bound for a section of the city that was probably as unfamiliar to her as the heart of China. Briefly he explained the character of the meeting, but diplomatically he held back his real purpose in taking her to it. She was frankly interested, nevertheless, and plied him with questions regarding its circumstances and causes, to which he was not slow in making reply. "If all these dreadful things are true, how does it happen that I have never heard about them? There has never been anything in the papers." "No," he assented, smiling in triumph under cover of darkness, "there hasn't been anything in the papers. That is," he added, "not in any of the papers you would be likely to read. _The World_ has had some stuff." But before they had had time to discuss the question further the car had reached its destination. Good led the way to a place in the balcony where they not only had a good view of the platform but could see the crowd below as well. A red-headed girl was playing a very much out-of-tune piano and playing it very badly. But over the music, and almost drowning it was the steady shuffle of feet, and a rising wave of whispers and laughter as the hall rapidly filled. The air was heavily odorous and the gas lights flared garishly, thrusting the stark shabbiness of the hall and its occupants into high relief. But all that was forgotten in the indefinable emotion which surcharged the atmosphere. Without knowing exactly why, Judith felt her throat tighten and her heart thrill. But it was an old story to Good and he spent his time surreptitiously watching the effect of the scene upon his companion. Presently the speakers of the evening filed onto the platform, and one of them, stepping up to the table, rapped sharply with her gavel. She was a woman just approaching middle age, very plainly but neatly dressed, with a face not handsome, but so full of quiet determination as to make one look twice. "That's Myra Horgan," whispered Good, "President of the Women's Trade Union League. She's a wonder."