He had been last to
leave the shops, and he had, unarmed, run the gantlet of the maddened
strikers who had been held at bay for six long hours. Only his great
strength and physical endurance had pulled him out of the arms of
violent death. There had been no shot fired from the shops. The
strikers saw the utter futility of forcing armed men, so they had hung
about with gibe and ribald jeer, waiting for some one careless enough
to pass them alone. This Bennington did. His men had forgotten him.
Bennington's injuries had been rather trivial; it had been his
personal appearance that had terrified the women. He had fallen asleep
half an hour after reaching home, and he had slept till nine that
evening. Upon awakening he had begun at once to plan a trip to Europe,
to wander from capital to capital for a year or so. No one had
interrupted him; not even the mother, grown old in the past month, had
demurred at his plans. He would have none near him but Kate, and she
had hovered about him, ministering to his wants as a mother over a
sick child. ... Kate! It all came back with a rush. Kate! Oh, what was
she, Patty, to believe? That night she had loved Kate almost to
idolatry.
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