The Remittance Man by Ambrose Pratt — Read

Jan had done a hard day's work, and was feeling run down. He had addressed and posted hundreds of circulars to Unions all over the country, imploring financial assistance for his Union. He had between whiles interviewed his fellow-officials more times than might be counted, and finally he had exhaustively harangued some thousand workers who had on the stroke of six thrown down their tools and departed from the Major's mill and workshops, perhaps never to enter them again. The strike was an accomplished fact. Jan ate a late dinner in unbroken silence, for Alan, observing his condition, forebore to ask him any questions, although he was intensely curious. Later, they took their accustomed chairs on the verandah, and Alan smoked. But Jan was listless; and he dreamed. An hour passed, and a movement on the road began to make itself felt. Lights flashed by in the darkness, and the thud of steel-shod hooves was heard with ever increasing frequency.

Twenty carriages passed in the direction of the "Folly." Alan counted them while Jan dreamed. At about nine Alan went silently into the house and dressed for the ball. "I am going, Jan," he said as he emerged. "Au revoir, old chap!" Jan did not hear nor heed. Alan slowly shook his head and went upon his way. Twenty more vehicles passed. Jan perceived the last of them; he watched it vanish into the darkness, and then he took a cigarette case from his pocket. A clock chimed in the hall behind him. He counted 10 strokes.