For a moment no one spoke. It was a new experience for Tom.
Heretofore the fight had been her own and for her own. She had
never supposed before that she filled so important a place in the
neighborhood, and for a moment there flashed across her mind a
certain justifiable pride in the situation. But this feeling was
momentary. Here was a suffering woman. For the first time she
realized that one weaker than herself might suffer in the
struggle. What could she do to help her? This thought was
uppermost in her mind.
"Don't ye worry," she said tenderly. "Schwartz won't fire yer
man."
"No; but the sluggers will. There was five men 'p'inted to-day to
do up the scabs an' the kickers who won't go out. They near
killed him once in Newark for kickin'. It was that time, you
know, when Katie was first took bad."
"Do ye know their names?" said Tom, her eyes flashing.
"No, an' me man don't. He's new, an' they dar'sn't trust him. It
was in the back room, he says, they picked 'em out."
Tom stood for some moments in deep thought, gazing at the fire,
her arms akimbo. Then, wheeling suddenly, she opened the door of
the sitting-room, and said in a firm, resolute voice:--
"Gran'pop, come here; I want ye."
The old man laid down his book, and stood in the kitchen doorway.
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