The ruler splintered abruptly, littering the ordered desk. "It's running away from a fight, Uncle Pratt, and you know it. I can't do it."
"Think of the family—a black mark like this——"
"I'm thinking of the miners ... of my duty to them and the people."
"We're practical men, Pelham. You know enough about politics to know that you're butting your head against a stone mountain."
"Then I'll butt, damn 'em! Talk straight, Uncle Pratt. Would you advise me to back out of a fight in the middle of it?"
The elder man grinned in defeated sympathy. "You're a young fool, Pelham. We've got to do this quickly, or it's too late. I could give you until to-morrow to think it over——"
"I don't need the time. This is the only answer I could make."
"Well, I'll tell Paul. If you ever get into a scrape of any kind——"
"I appreciate that, and I'll remember it."
The strike committee heard what had occurred within an hour, as far as Pelham's decision was concerned.