"Sure, and he is no more!" cried the other. "I've got as good an appetite for my meals as him, and my kids is as strong and handsome as his. But there he is sailing across the ocean in a soot de luxe, and here am I sweating at his bench."
"Well, what are you going to do about it?" asked Ashley, whereat all the men on his side crowed.
"Do?" cried Mullen. "I'm goin' to give him fair value for his wages, that's what I'm goin' to do. But I don't have to lick the hand that pats me!"
"A man can do what he likes with his own, I guess," said Ashley.
"'Tain't his own!" was the surprising answer. "He didn't earn it, did he? It was the surplus that his dad made out of us workmen, and his grand-dad before him."
"His grand-dad started as a workman like ourselves," said Ashley. "Only he was the best workman, so he went ahead."
"I doubt that," said Mullen coolly. "'Tain't the best workman that gets ahead, but the sharpest. Grand-dad was sharp enough to get ahead of the other workman. All right, I say. Let him enjoy what he can get. But does that give his family the right to run us to the end of time?"
"What are you going to do about it?" asked Ashley again. All his supporters laughed.
Mullen turned to me unexpectedly. "What have you got to say about it, mate? You know what they think about such things across the water. Give us your ideas."
"I don't know the boss," I said feebly. "How can I tell?"