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Updated: May 22, 2025
Such men are a disgrace to the world. Izon's cheeks flushed hot. He looked up. "Shall I write to him that we will not consider his offer, and tell him we refuse to compromise?" There was a silence a little while, and then one of the older men shuffled to his feet. "Tell you what we do we get up a collection for Izon. Then everything will be all right!" Izon's eyes blazed. "Charity? Not for me!
"I'm ready for anything." "Well, Mr. Blaine, I'm the employer of one of your men. You know Jacob Izon?" "Oh, you're Mr. Marrin! Sit down." Marrin gazed about. "Unique! unique!" He sat down, and pulled off his gloves. "I've been wanting to meet you for a long time. Izon's been talking, handing me your paper. It's a delightful little sheet I enjoy it immensely." "You agree with its views?"
"Gone back?" cried Joe. "Read this letter!" Joe read it, and spoke angrily. "Then I'll do something!" Izon pleaded with him. "Be careful, Joe don't do anything foolish for my sake. I'll get along " "But your wife! How does she take it?" Izon's face brightened. "Oh, she's a Comrade! That's why I married her!" "Good!" said Joe. "Then I'll go ahead. I'll speak my mind!"
"Marrin? Why, he was here only to-day!" Izon clutched the back of a chair and leaned over. "Marrin is a dirty scoundrel!" His voice was hoarse with helplessness and passion. Joe rose. "Tell me about this! Put it in a word!" Tears sprang to Izon's eyes. "You know the cloak-makers' strike well! Some manufacturer has asked Marrin to help him out to fill an order of cloaks for him."
Keep free, and then you can help others!" The most interesting caller, however, judged from the standpoint of Joe's life, was Theodore Marrin, Izon's boss, manufacturer of high-class shirtwaists, whose Fifth Avenue store is one of the most luxurious in New York.
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