[He sits. Umanski stares in amazement at his temerity. Umanski is a giant Pole or Russian. Whatever flesh he ever had has been starved off; he is all bone and brawn. In his face is something strangely like poetry ... something born of silence and suffering. He is in his best, which does not obliterate the picture of the man in working clothes, his sleeves rolled up over his muscular arms. Hennig is a stocky man of 45—a "grouser." His tone has none of the courage, the dignity, the independence of Umanski's; he blusters, emptily, an echo, without much to say, and one guesses he might be made to bluster either way. There is a pause.]
Goodkind
Smoke? [He presents the humidor to Hennig, and Stedtman, rising, reaches out and helps himself. Goodkind goes on to Umanski, who doesn't unfold his arms; doesn't even appear to see the box. Goodkind returns, and sets it lower right end of table.]
Joe
[Coming down R. of Goodkind]: I guess you know all about our grievances.
Goodkind
I didn't know you had any.
Joe
You didn't know we had any——
Benfield