The invincible Bolt bought a cart and a horse, hired two strangers, armed them and himself with revolvers, and carted the bricks himself. Five brickmakers waylaid him in a narrow lane; he took out his revolver, and told them he'd send them all to hell if one laid a finger on him; at this rude observation they fled like sheep.
The invincible carted his bricks by day, and at night rode the horse away to an obscure inn, and slept beside him, armed to the teeth.
The result of all which was that one day he burst into Little's studio shouting “Victory!” and told him two hundred thousand bricks were on the premises, and twenty bricklayers would be at work on the foundations that afternoon.
Henry Little was much pleased at that, and when Bolt told him how he had carted the bricks in person, said, “You are the man for me; you really are bad to beat.”
While they were congratulating each other on this hard-earned victory, Mr. Bayne entered softly, and said, “Mr. White—to speak to Mr. Bolt.”
“That is the builder,” said Bolt. “Show him up.”
Mr. White came in with a long face.
“Bad news, gentlemen; the Machine Brickmaking Company retires from business, driven out of trade by their repeated losses from violence.”
“All the worse for the nation,” said Bolt; “houses are a fancy article—got to be. But it doesn't matter to us. We have got bricks enough to go on with.”
“Plenty, sir; but that is not where the shoe pinches now. The Brickmakers' Union has made it right with the Bricklayers' Union, and the Bricklayers' Union orders us to cart back every one of those machine-made bricks to the yard.”