Part 4 (1/2)

”Beg pard'n, ma'am,” the tall man says ”Have no fear We are Deputy Sheriffs Read this” He produces an official-looking paper ”Ordered to dispossess you Very sorry, ot a dozenscream The Deputy Sheriff catches the limp body of thein his arms

III

East End, the fashi+onable residence quarter of Pittsburgh, lies basking in the afternoon sun The broad avenue looks cool and inviting: the stately trees touch their shadows across the carriage road, gently nodding their heads in es fills the avenue, the richly caparisoned horses and unifor color and life to the scene A cavalcade is passing hter of the ladies sounds joyous and care-free Their happiness irritatesof Homestead In mind I see the soure of therises before uished cry of a broken heart, a shattered brain

And here all is joy and laughter The gentlemen seem pleased; the ladies are happy Why should they concern themselves with misery and want? The common folk are fit only to be their slaves, to feed and clothe them, build these beautiful palaces, and be content with the charitable crust

”Take what I give you,” Frick coe garden, barns, and stable That stable there,--it is more cheerful and habitable than the 's home Ah, life could be made livable, beautiful! Why should it not be? Why so s are all around me That is life! Joy and peace No! There can be no peace with such as Frick and these parasites in carriages riding on our backs, and sucking the blood of the workers Fricks, vampires, all of them--I alainst _my_ class, the toilers, the producers An impersonal conspiracy, perhaps; but a conspiracy nevertheless And the fine ladies on horseback sh What is theat h! You despiseto the Fricks Well, it h in the evening, I learn that the conferences between the Carnegie Company and the Advisory Committee of the strikers have terminated in the final refusal of Frick to consider the deone! The master is determined to crush his rebellious slaves

CHAPTER IV

THE ATTENTAT

The door of Frick's private office, to the left of the reception-rooes, and I catch a flitting gliure at a table in the back of the rooed He can't see you now, sah,” the negro says, handing back my card

I take the pasteboard, return it to my case, and walk slowly out of the reception-rooate separating the clerks fro the astounded attendant aside, I step into the office on the left, and find ht, streah the s, dazzlestable

”Fr--,” I begin The look of terror on his face strikes me speechless

It is the dread of the conscious presence of death ”He understands,” it flashes through my mind With a quick motion I draw the revolver As I raise the weapon, I see Frick clutch with both hands the arm of the chair, and attempt to rise I aim at his head ”Perhaps he wears armor,”

I reflect With a look of horror he quickly averts his face, as I pull the trigger There is a flash, and the high-ceilinged roo of cannon I hear a sharp, piercing cry, and see Frick on his knees, his head against the arm of the chair I feel calm and possessed, intent upon everyhead and shoulders under the large armchair, without sound or motion ”Dead?”

I wonder I must make sure About twenty-five feet separate us I take a few steps toward him, when suddenly the other otten, leaps upon le to loosen his hold He looks slender and small I would not hurt him: I have no business with him

Suddenly I hear the cry, ”Murder! Help!” My heart stands still as I realize that it is Frick shouting ”Alive?” I wonder I hurl the stranger aside and fire at the crawling figure of Frick The rapples with me, and restle across the roo between his arainst his side and aier There is a click--but no explosion! By the throat I catch the stranger, still clinging toheavy strikes h uely conscious of the weapon slipping from my hands

”Where is the ha in ht ofon me Now--it's Frick's voice! Not dead? I crawl in the direction of the sound, dragging the struggling er fros of the man near theI hear Frick cry out in pain--there is --my arms are pulled and twisted, and I am lifted bodily from the floor

Police, clerks, workmen in overalls, surround me An officer pulls my head back by the hair, and my eyes meet Frick's He stands in front of ray; the black beard is streaked with red, and blood is oozing fro, as of shaer at the sentiment, so unworthy of a revolutionist With defiant hatred I look him full in the face

”Mr Frick, do you identify this man as your assailant?”

Frick nods weakly

The street is lined with a dense, excited crowd A youngthe police, inquires, not unkindly:

”Are you hurt? You're bleeding”

I pass my hand over my face I feel no pain, but there is a peculiar sensation about lasses,” I remark, involuntarily