"We've got the privilege of loading our wheat direct on cars through the flat warehouses or any other way we like——"
"What's the good o' that if a man can't get a car when he wants it?" demanded McNair impatiently. "The elevator gang 've organized to grab everything in sight. I know it. You know it. Everybody knows it, by heaven! So what's the use o' talkin'?"
"We've got to be fair, though. The elevator people have put a lot of money—Say, why can't we organize, too?" suggested Motherwell with a flash of inspiration. "We haven't tried that yet. That's constitutional. That's what the livestock breeders have done," he said eagerly.
McNair shook his head.
"I tell you, Bill, it's too late for that sort o' thing," he objected.
"Unless you mean organizin' to fight—"
"Exactly."
"With guns, if necessary?"
"It won't be necessary."
"Possibly not to shoot anybody. The showin' mebbe'll turn the trick. Now, look here. My idea is that if a bunch of us fellows got together on the quiet some night an' seized a few elevators—Say, wouldn't it bring things to a head so quick we'd get action? The law's there, but these fellows are deliberately breakin' it an' we got to show 'em——"
"The action you'd get would be the wrong kind, Mac," protested W. R.
Motherwell emphatically. "You'd land in jail!"