One of the girls he told off to stand in front of the factory morning and evening.

"I will have other help for you there," he said. "Before you go home to-night there will be a printer here with a bundle of pamphlets I am having printed for you."

Advised by the soft-eyed Jewish girl, he told off others to get additional names for the mailing list he wanted, getting many important ones from girls in the room. Six of the girls he asked to come in the morning to help him with addressing and mailing letters. The Jewish girl he told to take charge of the girls at work in the room--on the morrow to become also an office--and to superintend getting the names.

Frank rose at the back of the room.

"Who are you anyway?" he asked.

"A man with money and the ability to win this strike," Sam told him.

"What are you doing it for?" demanded Frank.

The Jewish girl sprang to her feet.

"Because he believes in these women and wants to help," she explained.

"Rot," said Frank, going out at the door.

It was snowing when the meeting ended, and Sam and the Jewish girl finished their talk in the hallway leading to her room.

"I don't know what Harrigan, the union leader from Pittsburgh, will say to this," she told him. "He appointed Frank to lead and direct the strike here. He doesn't like interference and he may not like your plan.

But we working women need men, men like you who can plan and do things.

There are too many men living on us. We need men who will work for all of us as the men work for the women in the carriages and automobiles."

She laughed and put out a hand to him. "See what you have got yourself into? I want you to be a husband to our entire union."

The next morning four girl stenographers went to work in Sam's strike headquarters, and he wrote his first strike letter, a letter telling the story of a striking girl named Hadaway, whose young brother was sick with tuberculosis. Sam did not put any flourishes in the letter; he felt that he did not need to. He thought that with twenty or thirty such letters, each telling briefly and truthfully the story of one of the striking girls, he should be able to show one American town how its other half lived. He gave the letter to the four girl stenographers with the mailing list he already had and started them writing it to each of the names.

At eight o'clock a man came in to install a telephone and girl strikers began bringing in new names for the mailing list. At nine o'clock three more stenographers appeared and were put to work, and girls who had been in began sending more names over the 'phone. The Jewish girl walked up and down, giving orders, making suggestions. From time to time she ran to Sam's desk and suggested other sources of names for the mailing list.

Sam thought that if the other working girls were timid and embarra.s.sed before him this one was not. She was like a general on the field of battle. Her soft brown eyes glowed, her mind worked rapidly, and her voice had a ring in it. At her suggestion Sam gave the girls at the typewriters lists bearing the names of town officials, bankers and prominent business men, and the wives of all these, also presidents of various women's clubs, society women, and charitable organizations. She called reporters from the town's two daily papers and had them interview Sam, and at her suggestion he gave them copies of the Hadaway girl letter to print.

"Print it," he said, "and if you cannot use it as news, make it an advertis.e.m.e.nt and bring the bill to me."

At eleven o'clock Frank came into the room bringing a tall Irishman, with sunken cheeks, black, unclean teeth, and an overcoat too small for him. Leaving him standing by the door, Frank walked across the room to Sam.

"Come to lunch with us," he said. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the tall Irishman. "I picked him up," he said. "Best brain that's been in town for years. He's a wonder. Used to be a Catholic priest.

He doesn't believe in G.o.d or love or anything. Come on out and hear him talk. He's great."

Sam shook his head.

"I am too busy. There is work to be done here. We are going to win this strike."

Frank looked at him doubtfully and then about the room at the busy girls.

"I don't know what Harrigan will think of all this," he said. "He doesn't like interferences. I never do anything without writing him.

I wrote and told him what you were doing here. I had to, you know. I'm responsible to headquarters."

In the afternoon the Hebrew owner of the shirtwaist factory came in to strike headquarters and, walking through the room took off his hat and sat down by Sam's desk.

"What do you want here?" he asked. "The newspaper boys told me of what you had planned to do. What's your game?"

"I want to whip you," Sam answered quietly, "to whip you good. You might as well get into line. You are going to lose this strike."

"I'm only one," said the Hebrew. "There is an a.s.sociation of us manufacturers of shirtwaists. We are all in this. We all have a strike on our hands. What will you gain if you do beat me here? I'm only a little fellow after all."

Sam laughed and picking up his pen began writing.

"You are unlucky," he said. "I just happened to take hold here. When I have you beaten I will go on and beat the others. There is more money back of me than back of you all, and I am going to beat every one of you."

The next morning a crowd stood before the stairway leading to the factory when the strikebreaking girls came to work. The letters and the newspaper interview had been effective and more than half the strikebreakers did not appear. The others hurried along the street and turned in at the stairway without looking at the crowd. The girl, told off by Sam, stood on the sidewalk pa.s.sing out pamphlets to the strikebreakers. The pamphlets were headed, "The Story of Ten Girls," and told briefly and pointedly the stories of ten striking girls and what the loss of the strike meant to them and to their families.

After a while there drove up two carriages and a large automobile, and out of the automobile climbed a well-dressed woman who took a bundle of the pamphlets from the girl picket and began pa.s.sing them about among the people. Two policemen who stood in front of the crowd took off their helmets and accompanied her. The crowd cheered. Frank came hurrying across the street to where Sam stood in front of the barber shop and slapped him on the back.

"You're a wonder," he said.

Sam hurried back to the room and prepared the second letter for the mailing list. Two more stenographers had come to work. He had to send out for more machines. A reporter for the town's evening paper ran up the stairway.

"Who are you?" he asked. "The town wants to know."

From his pocket he took a telegram from a Pittsburgh daily.

"What about mail-order strike plan? Give name and story new strike leader there."

At ten o'clock Frank returned.

"There's a wire from Harrigan," he said. "He's coming here. He wants a ma.s.s meeting of the girls for to-night. I've got to get them together.

We'll meet here in this room."

In the room the work went on. The list of names for the mailing had doubled. The picket at the shirtwaist factory reported that three more of the strikebreakers had left the plant. The Jewish girl was excited.

She went hurrying about the room, her eyes glowing.

"It's great," she said. "The plan is working. The whole town is aroused and for us. We'll win in another twenty-four hours."

And then at seven o'clock that night Harrigan came into the room where Sam sat with the a.s.sembled girls, bolting the door behind him. He was a short, strongly built man with blue eyes and red hair. He walked about the room in silence, followed by Frank. Suddenly he stopped and, picking up one of the typewriting machines rented by Sam for the letter writing, raised it above his head and sent it smashing to the floor.

"A h.e.l.l of a strike leader," he roared. "Look at this. Scab machines!

"Scab stenographers!" he said through his teeth. "Scab printing! Scab everything!"

Picking up a bundle of the letterheads, he tore them across, and walking to the front of the room, shook his fist before Sam's face.

"Scab leader!" he shouted, turning and facing the girls.

The soft-eyed Jewish girl sprang to her feet.

"He's winning for us," she said.

Harrigan walked toward her threateningly.