"Out with you, before I order you thrown downstairs!" shouted the head of the union. "You can't resign, because you've been bounced. The men fired you out of the window; then they fired you from the union, you and your handy-fisted friend there."
"Thank you. Good night. When you men and your families are suffering from hunger and cold, perhaps you may remember the warning I have given you."
Steve turned on his heel and limped down the stairs, with Bob as a rear guard.
"Hey, Steve!" called Jarvis, halting at the door.
"What is it?" demanded Rush, halting outside the door.
"Shall I hand this guard one for luck? Shall I punch him, just once, good and hard?"
"Certainly not. He hasn't done anything to you. We have had enough fighting for one night. Besides, I am lame and sore, and I want to get home. Come along."
Jarvis followed, but reluctantly. He could hardly restrain himself from thrashing the grinning guard at the foot of the stairs.
When the Iron Boys removed their clothes and took their bath they realized, for the first time, how roughly they had been handled. Their bodies were covered with bruises, but their faces were unmarked, save where Steve had been cut by the glass when he was hurled through the window. There were many other men, however, whose faces had not fared so well, and they would bear the marks of the Iron Boys' fists for days to come.
The boys were in bed soon after. On the morrow they were to awaken to new experiences. Ahead of them was a great strike, in which the Iron Boys were to play a tremendously important part, and during which they were to win new laurels.