"But look here, Joe," I asked at the end, "what's the good of living like this? What the devil can you do?"
I still remember the look he gave me, the weary remoteness of it. But all he said was,
"Organize strikes."
"Here?"
"Everywhere."
"Of stokers?"
"No, of all industries."
"For higher pay, eh, and shorter hours."
Another brief look.
"No, for revolution," he said.