There were groups of motormen and conductors here and there, some
looking grave and anxious, and some careless and indifferent.
As the morning advanced the throngs in the streets increased. Belated
business men hurried along, and clerks and saleswomen with flushed
faces and anxious eyes, tried impatiently to force their way through
the crowds to get to their places of business.
Theodore noticed the large number of rough-looking men and boys on the
streets, and that most of them seemed full of suppressed excitement.
Now and then as he passed some of these, he caught a low-spoken
threat, or an exultant prophecy of lively times to come. It all made
him vaguely uneasy, and he had to force himself to go about his work
instead of lingering outside to see what would happen.
In one office, while he was busy over the brasses, three gentlemen
were discussing the situation, and the boy, as he rubbed and polished,
listened intently to what was said.
"What do the fellows want? What's their grievance, anyhow?" inquired
one man, impatiently, as he flicked the ashes from his cigar.
"Shorter hours and better pay," replied a second.
"Of course. That's what strikers always want," put in a third. "They
seem to think they're the only ones to be considered."
"Well, I must confess that I rather sympathise with the men this
time," said the second speaker.
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