"You and I will go down to the molding-room and have it out with our fists. If you win, Chittenden goes; if I win, he stays and the men return to work."
"This isn't no kid's play, Mr. Bennington. You've got a big strike looking you in the face."
Bennington laughed. "I'm afraid you're a coward. So Mr. Chittenden must join the union or go. It isn't a question of wage scale or hours; it simply revolves around Mr. Chittenden. Supposing he joins the union, what will you give him to do?" Bennington's voice was that of a man who wishes to know all sides of the question.
"Well, he'll have to learn where they all started from."
"Mr. Chittenden is an expert machinist."
"Let him join the union, then, and there won't be any trouble here. I want justice. This shop is union, and no non-union man can work here. I want justice, that's all."
"You'll get that all in good time, Mr.—ah—?"
"Morrissy."
"Mr. Morrissy. Mr. Chittenden, are you willing to join the union?" Bennington smiled as he plied this question.
"Not I! My word, I'd as lief starve as become a union man, and under such a master. I prize my manhood and independence above all things. I have already refused to join. I never take back what I say."