Three  days  before  the  convention,  Jane  met  him  with
a  worried  face.  "Something's  rotten  in  the  environs  of
the  iron  Copenhagen,  Pelham.  I  learned  about  it  from
comrade  Hernandez.  One  of  the  few  socialist  delegates,
a  Birrell-Florence  miner  named  Jensen — I  don't  think
you've  met  him — has  been  offered  a  direct  bribe  to  oppose
the  mining  bill.  Somebody's  busy,  that's  sure."

"That  does  sound  discouraging.  Let's  go  over  your
mining  reports,  so  that  I  can  get  the  facts  straight.  I
ought  to  understand  the  situation,  at  least."

They  went  over  the  figures  together.  -  He  began  to  vis-
ualize what  the  class  struggle  meant,  here  in  the  quiet,
placid  South.  There  had  been  four  large  mine  explosions
in  the  state  the  year  before,  the  one  at  Flagg  Mines  kill-
ing a  hundred  and  ninety-two "And  all  of  it  useless,

Pelham !  The  simplest  mine  safeguards "

"The  owners  can't  know  of  them !"

She  shut  her  lips.  "They  cost  something.  Every  cent
cuts  down  profits.  It's  cheaper  to  kill  men."


122  MOUNTAIN

"It's  horrible!"  In  dejected  impotence  he  clenched  his
hands.  The  unemotional  rows  of  figures  began  to  acquire
a  breathing  significance.  His  vivid  imagination  pictured
mangled  forms,  the  bursting  hell  of  explosions,  the  iso-
lated horror  of  lonely  accident  and  death,  the  pallid  faces
of  starving  mothers  and  babies,  staining  the  broad  mar-
gins of  the  cheap  white  paper.
She  looked  up  from  the  pamphlets,  her  brows  creased.
