"Beat it," he said, "while the trail's open."
Carlin flashed a glance over his shoulder at the fishermen who stood looking on in stoical silence. Then he decided to go. Mumbling to himself, he turned sullenly from the men about him and walked slowly down the dock.
Dickie Lang faced the silent fishermen.
"Now, boys, what is it? I'll hear what you've got to say. But I won't have any dealings with a crook."
The men about her shuffled their feet and drew closer. Then a man in a faded plaid jumper detached himself from the others and began to speak.
"We ain't got nothin' against you, Miss Lang," he began uncertainly. "But we've all got to look out for ourselves. We got families and folks dependin' on us. Livin' 's out of sight. So is clothes and everything. We——"
"What's your proposition, Blagg?"
The fisherman hesitated at the directness of the question. Then he recited: "Straight time. Eight-hour day for six dollars. Double money for overtime and Sundays."
Dickie started at the demand. Carlin had done his work well to set such a limit as that. She wondered
how far the seeds of discontent had spread among the others. As her eye traveled over the silent groups, Blagg went on: