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refrain from rising in her seat。
By some odd whim of the weather the wind had backed around into the east；
gathering the clouds once more。 The brilliancy of the morning had given
place to greyness； the high slits of windows seemed dirtier than ever as
the train pulled into the station at Hampton； shrouded in Gothic gloom。
As she left the car Janet was aware of the presence on the platform of an
unusual number of people； she wondered vaguely； as she pushed her way
through them； why they were there； what they were talking about？ One
determination possessed her； to go to the Chippering Mill； to Ditmar。
Emerging from the street； she began to walk rapidly； the change from
inaction to exercise bringing a certain relief； starting the working of
her mind； arousing in her a realization of the necessity of being
prepared for the meeting。 Therefore； instead of turning at Faber Street；
she crossed it。 But at the corner of the Common she halted； her glance
drawn by a dark mass of people filling the end of Hawthorne Street； where
it was blocked by the brick…coloured facade of the Clarendon Mill。 In
the middle distance men and boys were running to join this crowd。 A
girl； evidently an Irish…American mill hand of the higher paid sort；
hurried toward her from the direction of the mill itself。 Janet accosted
her。
〃It's the strike；〃 she explained excitedly； evidently surprised at the
question。 〃The Polaks and the Dagoes and a lot of other foreigners quit
when they got their envelopesstopped their looms and started through
the mill； and when they came into our room I left。 I didn't want no
trouble with 'em。 It's the fifty…four hour lawtheir pay's cut two
hours。 You've heard about it； I guess。〃
Janet nodded。
〃They had a big mass meeting last night in Maxwell Hall；〃 the girl
continued； 〃the foreignersnot the skilled workers。 And they voted to
strike。 They tell me they're walking out over at the Patuxent； too。〃
〃And the Chippering？〃 asked Janet； eagerly。
〃I don't knowI guess it'll spread to all of 'em； the way these
foreigners are going onthey're crazy。 But say；〃 the girl added； 〃it
ain't right to cut our pay； either； is it？ They never done it two years
ago when the law came down to fifty…six。〃
Janet did not wait to reply。 While listening to this explanation；
excitement had been growing in her again； and some fearful； overpowering
force of attraction emanating from that swarm in the distance drew her
until she yielded； fairly running past the rows of Italian tenements in
their strange setting of snow； not to pause until she reached the fruit
shop where she and Eda had eaten the olives。 Now she was on the
outskirts of the crowd that packed itself against the gates of the
Clarendon。 It spread over the width of East Street； growing larger every
minute； until presently she was hemmed in。 Here and there hoarse shouts
of approval and cheers arose in response to invisible orators haranging
their audiences in weird； foreign tongues； tiny American flags were
waved； and suddenly； in one of those unforeseen and incomprehensible
movements to which mobs are subject； a trolley car standing at the end of
the Hawthorne Street track was surrounded； the desperate clanging of its
bell keeping pace with the beating of Janet's heart。 A dark Sicilian；
holding aloft the green； red； and white flag of Italy； leaped on the rear
platform and began to speak； the Slav conductor regarding him stupidly；
pulling the bellcord the while。 Three or four policemen fought their way
to the spot； striving to clear the tracks； bewildered and impotent in the
face of the alien horde momentarily growing more and more conscious of
power。
Janet pushed her way deeper and deeper into the crowd。 She wanted to
savour to the full its wrath and danger； to surrender herself to be
played upon by these sallow； stubbybearded exhorters； whose menacing
tones and passionate gestures made a grateful appeal； whose wild； musical
words； just because they were uncomprehended； aroused in her dim
suggestions of a race…experience not her own； but in which she was now
somehow summoned to share。 That these were the intruders whom she； as a
native American； had once resented and despised did not occur to her。
The racial sense so strong in her was drowned in a sense of fellowship。
Their anger seemed to embody and express； as nothing else could have
done； the revolt that had been rising； rising within her soul； and the
babel to which she listened was not a confusion of tongues； but one voice
lifted up to proclaim the wrongs of all the duped； of all the exploited
and oppressed。 She was fused with them； their cause was her cause； their
betrayers her betrayers。
Suddenly was heard the cry for which she had been tensely but
unconsciously awaiting。 Another cry like that had rung out in another
mob across the seas more than a century before。 〃Ala Bastille！〃 became
〃To the Chippering！〃 Some man shouted it out in shrill English； hundreds
repeated it； the Sicilian leaped from the trolley car； and his path could
be followed by the agitated progress of the alien banner he bore。 〃To
the Chippering！〃 It rang in Janet's ears like a call to battle。 Was she
shouting it； too？ A galvanic thrill ran through the crowd； an impulse
that turned their faces and started their steps down East Street toward
the canal； and Janet was irresistibly carried along。 Nay； it seemed as
if the force that second by second gained momentum was in her； that she
herself had released and was guiding it！ Her feet were wet as she
ploughed through the trampled snow； but she gave no thought to that。 The
odour of humanity was in her nostrils。 On the left a gaunt Jew pressed
against her； on the right a solid Ruthenian woman； one hand clasping her
shawl； the other holding aloft a miniature emblem of New World liberty。
Her eyes were fixed on the grey skies； and from time to time her lips
were parted in some strange； ancestral chant that could be heard above
the shouting。 All about Janet were dark； awakening faces。。。。
It chanced that an American； a college graduate； stood gazing down from a
point of vantage upon this scene。 He was ignorant of anthropology；
psychology； and the phenomena of environment； but bits of 〃knowledge〃
which he embodied in a newspaper article composed that evening stuck wax…
like in his brain。 Not thus； he deplored； was the Anglo…Saxon wont to
conduct his rebellions。 These Czechs and Slavs； Hebrews and Latins and
Huns might have appropriately been clad in the skins worn by the hordes
of Attila。 Had they not been drawn hither by the renown of the
Republic's wealth？ And how essentially did they differ from those other
barbarians before whose bewildered； lustful gaze had risen the glittering
palaces on the hills of the Tiber？ The spoils of Rome！ The spoils of
America！ They appeared to him ferocious； atavistic beasts as they broke
into the lumberyard beneath his window to tear the cord…wood from the
piles and rush out again； armed with billets。。。。
Janet； in the main stream sweeping irresistibly down the middle of the
street； was carried beyond the lumberyard into the narrow roadway beside
the canalpresently to find herself packed in the congested mass in
front of the bridge that led to the gates of the Chippering Mill。 Across
the water； above the angry hum of human voices could be heard the
whirring of the looms； rousing the mob to a higher pitch of fury。 The
halt was for a moment only。 The bridge rocked beneath the weight of
their charge； they battered at the great gates； they ran along the snow…
filled tracks by the wall of the mill。 Some； in a frenzy of passion；
hurled their logs against the windows； others paused； seemingly to
measure the distance and force of the stroke； thus lending to their act a
more terrible and deliberate significance。 A shout of triumph announced
that the gates； like a broken dam； had given way； and the torrent poured
in between the posts； flooding the yard； pressing up the towered
stairways and spreading through the compartments of the mill。 More
ominous than the tumult seemed the comparative silence that followed this
absorption of the angry spirits of the mob。 Little by little； as the
power was shut off； the antiphonal throbbing of the looms was stilled。
Pinioned against the parapet above the canalalmost on that very spot
where； the first evening； she had met DitmarJanet awaited her chance to
cross。 Every crashing window； every resounding blow on the panels gave
her a fierce throb of joy。 She had not expected the gates to yieldher
father must have insecurely fastened them。 Gaining the farther side of
the canal； she perceived him flattened against the wall of the gatehouse
shaking his fist in the faces of the intruders； who rushed past him
unheeding。 His look arrested her。 His face was livid； his eyes were red
with anger； he stood transformed by a passion she had not believed him to
possess。 She had indeed heard him give vent to a mitigated indignation
against foreigners in general； but now the old…school Americanism in
which he had been bred； the Americanism of individual rights； of respect
for the convention of property； had