Morrison again looked puzzled. He went back to his bullets.
"To be specific," he spoke impressively, "as things stand now, if one workingman thinks he ought to have more pay he goes to the company and asks for it. The company says no. If he gets troublesome, they fire him. If one man works in a close breast with foul air the company tells him to go back to his work or quit. It costs money to timber bad ground. One poor workman's life doesn't count for much. It's cheaper for the company to take chances than to put in timber." He paused, looking sharply at Bennie.
"You're talking sense now. How do you propose to help it?"
Morrison felt solid ground beneath his feet.
"Do as I said. Learn from the rich. Unite. If the men are not getting fair wages, the union can demand more."
Bennie lifted an inquiring finger.
"One word there. You want to organise a union?"
"That's it. That's the stuff." Morrison was flatteringly acquiescent. "A company can turn down one man, but the union will shove it up to them hard."
"If one man breaks five tons of ore a day, and another man breaks only one, will the union see that both get the same pay?"
"A workingman is a workingman." Morrison spoke less enthusiastically. "A man that puts in his time earns all that he gets."