"What do you think of my friends?" he asked.
"I think you're throwing your life away!"
"Do you? How do you make it out?"
"Because they're an utterly hopeless crowd! Look at 'em—poor devils—they look like a lot of Bowery bums!"
"Yes—they look like a lot of bums. And they feed all the fires at sea."
"Are they all like these?" I demanded.
"No better dressed," he answered. "A million lousy brothers of Christ."
"And you think you can build a new world with them?"
"No—I think they can do it themselves."
"Do you know what I think they'll do themselves? If they ever do win in any strike and get a raise in wages—they'll simply blow it in on drink!"