"Umph—Where did you work last?"
"At Kansas City. I'm a printer by trade, but willing to do anything until I get a start."
"Why aren't you working at your trade?"
"I was thrown out by the strike and have been unable to find anything since."
A look of anger and scorn swept over the merchant's face. "So you're one of that lot, are you? Why don't you fellows learn to take what you can get? Look there." He pointed to a pile of pamphlets lying on the table. "Just came in to-day; they cost me fifty per cent more than I ever paid before, just because you cattle can't be satisfied; and now you want me to give you a place. If I had my way, I'd give you, and such as you, work on the rock pile." And he wheeled his chair toward his desk again.
"But," said Dick, "I'm hungry—I must do something—I'm not a beggar—I'll earn every cent you pay me."
"I tell you no," shouted the other. "I won't have men about me who look above their position," and he picked up his pen.
"But, Sir," said Dick again, "what am I to do?"
"I don't care what you do," returned the other. "There is a stone-yard here for such as you."
"Sir," answered Dick, standing very straight, his face as pale as death. "Sir, you will yet learn that it does matter very much what such fellows as I do, and some day you will be glad to apologize for your words this morning. I am no more worthy to work on the rock pile than yourself. As a man, I am every bit your equal, and will live to prove it. Good morning, Sir." And he marched out of the office like a soldier on parade, leaving the young lady at the typewriter motionless with amazement, and her employer dumb with rage.