"I know this Jack Bowden kind. We find 'em all over. In West Virginia we amputated a bunch like that. We've got 'em in Chicago, Indianapolis, New York.... Give 'em a few days, and they'll show yellow; then it's easy to fire 'em. Bowden looked fishy. These labor tin Jesuses make me sick! Better than anybody else, and sold out in advance. Who's this Judson?"
The energetic bricklayer told of the recent convert, and the Arlington Hall meeting.
"He can talk? We'll use him. But you can't trust them fellows too far. I'm not a socialist, you know; don't believe in voting worth a damn. Never got nowhere, never will get nowhere. But in a strike, they help."
They went over the morning paper. "Mmm—only a few hundred out——What's the straight goods?"
"Over five hundred from the Judson mines, six fifty from the Birrell-Florence, and about four hundred others from the mines on either side. We haven't touched West Adamsville yet, or Irondale. If only the furnaces could be called out...."
"Won't come. We can try; but mine strikes don't get 'em. No organization. These men all joined?"
"Joined or joining."
"This says scabs from Pittsburgh.... No law to stop 'em?"
"Ben Spence, our lawyer, says there isn't. In the last street-car strike we tried the law; the courts wouldn't enforce it."
"How do the boys feel?"