"Glad to hear it," said Stevens incredulously. "You don't go the best way to show your sense by talking of a stone wall."
"Maybe I do, more'n you're aware. Maybe it's an inwisible stone wall, as none o' you'll see, till heads go bang agin it. But ye all seem mighty cheerful this evening. Mr. Hughes 'll ask me by an' by,—"
"'Well, Peter,' he'll say, 'and how's the men getting along to-night?'" he'll say.
"And I'll tell him, 'Not a bit depressed nor down in the mouth, sir,' I'll say, 'but all as merry as crickets, thinking o' the nice long holiday they're a-going to get."
"And he'll say, 'Poor fellows!'"
"Mr. Hughes has been down the road himself, and heard Pope, so it isn't like he'll go to you for information," retorted Stevens.
"I've heard him!" said Stuckey, with a nod. "I've heard Pope! Heard him yesterday a-talking against that 'ere cruel bloodhound of a master, Mr. Bertie, who's just been setting up a soup-kitchen for them iron-workers that's got cut off from work by the action of the strikers. Werry bloodthirsty deed!"
"I've nothing to say against Mr. Bertie himself," said Stevens. "We're striking for our rights. 'Tain't because Pope tells us. It's because we want our rights."
"Never you mind, man," Stuckey responded, in consoling tones. "When Peter Pope's golden age is come, and capital is abolished, and masters is all wiped out of existence, and men don't need to work, and wages comes pouring in from nobody knows where, ye'll all share and share alike, I don't doubt. That's something to look forward to, ain't it? Never you mind a bit o' trouble beforehand. Some o' ye's pretty sure to struggle through the starwation-time previous; leastways I hopes so. And if so be ye don't—why it's only dying for your rights!"
