"It's for the meeting," said Muriel, peeping in.

"Meeting?" repeated her father, in a dazed voice.

"Strike-meetings," was the reply. "Mrs. Gorman and some other ladies are
coming at four o'clock. Didn't mother tell you?"

Mr. Porter, staring helplessly at the row of chairs, shook his head.

"Mrs. Evans is coming," continued Muriel, in a hushed voice--"the lady
what punched Mr. Brown because he kept Bobbie Evans in one day. He ain't
been kept in since. I wish you----"

She stopped suddenly, and, held by her father's gaze, backed slowly out
of the room. Mr. Porter, left with the chairs, stood regarding them
thoughtfully. Their emptiness made an appeal that no right-minded man
could ignore. He put his hand over his mouth and his eyes watered.

He spent the next half-hour in issuing invitations, and at half-past
three every chair was filled by fellow-strikers. Three cans of beer,
clay pipes, and a paper of shag stood on the table. Mr. Benjamin Todd,
an obese, fresh-coloured gentleman of middle age, took the easy-chair.
Glasses and teacups were filled.

"Gentlemen," said Mr. Todd, lighting his pipe, "afore we get on to the
business of this meeting I want to remind you that there is another
meeting, of ladies, at four o'clock; so we've got to hurry up. O'
course, if it should happen that we ain't finished----"

"Go on, Bennie!" said a delighted admirer. "I see a female 'ead peeping