Tom talked the matter over with Pop, and had determined to buy another horse and hire two extra carts. At her price there was a margin of at least ten cents a ton profit, and as the work lasted through the year, she could adjust the hauling of her other business without much extra expense. She discussed the situation with no one outside her house. If Schwartz wanted her to carry on the work, she would do it, Union or no Union. Mr. Crane was on her bond. That in itself was a bracing factor. Strong and self-reliant as she was, the helping hand which this man held out to her was like an anchor in a storm.
That Sunday night they were all gathered round the kerosene lamp,--Pop reading, Cully and Patsy on the floor, Jennie listening absent-mindedly, her thoughts far away,--when there came a knock at the kitchen door. Jennie flew to open it.
Outside stood two women. One was Mrs. Todd, the other the haggard, pinched, careworn woman who had spoken to her that morning at her room-door in the tenement.
"They want to see you, mother," said Jennie, all the light gone out of her eyes. What could be the matter with Carl, she thought.
It had been this way for a week.
"Well, bring 'em in. Hold on, I'll go meself."
"She would come, Tom," said Mrs. Todd, unwinding her shawl from her head and shoulders; "an' ye mustn't blame me, fer it's none of my doin's. Walk in, mum; ye can speak to her yerself. Why, where is she?"--looking out of the door into the darkness. "Oh, here ye are; I thought ye'd skipped."
"Do ye remember me?" said the woman, stepping into the room, her gaunt face looking more wretched under the flickering light of the candle than it had done in the morning. "I'm the new-comer in the tenements. Ye were in to see my girl th'other night. We're in great trouble."
"She's not dead?" said Tom, sinking into a chair.
"No, thank God; we've got her still wid us; but me man's come home to-night nigh crazy. He's a-walkin' the floor this minute, an' so I goes to Mrs. Todd, an' she come wid me. If he loses the job now, we're in the street. Only two weeks' work since las' fall, an' the girl gettin' worse every day, and every cint in the bank gone, an' hardly a chair lef' in the place. An' I says to him, 'I'll go meself. She come in to see Katie th' other night; she'll listen to me.' We lived in Newark, mum, an' had four rooms and a mahogany sofa and two carpets, till the strike come in the clock-factory, an' me man had to quit; an' then all winter--oh, we're not used to the likes of this!"--covering her face with her shawl and bursting into tears.
Tom had risen to her feet, her face expressing the deepest sympathy for the woman, though she was at a loss to understand the cause of her visitor's distress.
"Is yer man fired?" she asked.
"No, an' wouldn't be if they'd let him alone. He's sober an' steady, an' never tastes a drop, and brings his money home to me every Saturday night, and always done; an' now they"--"Well, what's the matter, then?" Tom could not stand much beating about the bush.
"Why, don't ye know they've give notice?" she said in astonishment; then, as a misgiving entered her mind, "Maybe I'm wrong; but me man an' all of 'em tells me ye're a-buckin' ag'in'
Mr. McGaw, an' that ye has the haulin' job at the brewery."
"No," said Tom, with emphasis, "ye're not wrong; ye're dead right.
But who's give notice?"
"The committee's give notice, an' the boss at the brewery says he'll give ye the job if he has to shut up the brewery; an' the committee's decided to-day that if he does they'll call out the men. My man is a member, and so I come over"--And she rested her head wearily against the door, the tears streaming down her face.
Tom looked at her wonderingly, and then, putting her strong arms about her, half carried her across the kitchen to a chair by the stove. Mrs. Todd leaned against the table, watching the sobbing woman.
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.
He was in his shirt-sleeves, his spectacles on his forehead.
"Come inside the kitchen, an' shut that door behind ye. Here's me friend Jane Todd an' a friend of hers from the tenement. That thief of a McGaw has stirred up the Union over the haulin' bid, and they've sent notice to Schwartz that I don't belong to the Union, an' if he don't throw me over an' give the job to McGaw they'll call out the men. If they do, there's a hundred women and three times that many children that'll go hungry. This woman here's got a girl herself that hasn't drawed a well breath for six months, an' her man's been idle all winter, an' only just now got a job at Schwartz's, tending gate. Now, what'll I do? Shall I chuck up the job or stick?"
The old man looked into the desolate, weary face of the woman and then at Tom. Then he said slowly:--"Well, child, ye kin do widout it, an' maybe t' others can't."
"Ye've got it straight," said Tom; "that's just what I think meself." Then, turning to the stranger:--"Go home and tell yer man to go to bed. I'll touch nothin' that'll break the heart of any woman. The job's McGaw's. I'll throw up me bid."
