“What you goin’ to do about it?” says I.
“I been thinkin’,” says he.
“Better think some more,” says I; “it’s easy.”
“I’m a-goin’ to, and I’m a-goin’ to do it n-now. You tell Tallow and Binney to come up to the office and we’ll have a council of war.”
I got the fellows and we all went into the office that Mark had got fixed up pretty slick with an old table and some kitchen chairs. It looked real business-like with bookkeeping books and such like scattered around.
“Well,” says he, “who’s got any n-n-notion of how to make them grocery-store p-politicans work harder?”
“Pay ’em more,” says I.
“That won’t do it,” says he. “I’d be willin’ to p-pay more if they’d earn it. But they don’t earn fair what they git. They got an idee we’re just kids and they kin do about the way they w-want to.”
“Tell ’em,” says Binney, “that we won’t pay ’em only for what they do.”
Mark looked at him a minute. “Say, Binney,” says he, “I guess you’re promoted. That’s a notion. I knew there was somethin’. Piece-work is what they call it. Pay ’em so much for every article they make. So much for a hunderd chair-s-s-spindles, so much for d-drumsticks, so much for d-d-dumb-bells and tenpins.”