To this sentiment Luna acquiesced with an emphatic nod.
"Strike!" ejaculated Morrison. "That's just what we will do, and pretty soon, too!" He was still smarting with the memory of Bennie's words.
Pierre again took a hand.
"Who mek ze troub', heh? Meestaire Firmstone. I bin tol' you he's smooth stuff, ver' smooth stuff. You mek ze strike. P'quoi? Mek Meestaire Firmstone quit, eh? Bien! You mek ze strike, you mek Meestaire Firmstone keep his job. P'quoi? Ze company say Meestaire Firmstone one good man; he mek ze boy kick. Bien! Meester Firmstone, he stay."
"He'll stay, anyway," growled Morrison, "unless we can get him out."
Pierre shook his head softly.
"Ze strike mek him to stay."
"What do you propose, then?" asked Morrison, impatiently.
"Meestaire Jim at ze mine bin foreman. Meestaire Luna at ze mill bin foreman. Slick men! Ver' slick men! An' two slick men bin ask hol' Pierre, one hol' Frenchmans, how mek for Meestaire Firmstone ze troub'." Pierre shook his head deprecatingly. "Mek one suppose. Mek suppose ze mill all ze time broke down. Mek suppose ze mine raise hell. Bien! Bimeby ze company say, 'Meestaire Firmstone bin no good.'"
"Frenchy's hitting pay dirt all right," commented Luna. "That's the stuff!"