"No! You're right, we don't."
"Then if that is so, why is it so? It is because those who employ you are squeezing the lemon until it is dry, in order that their bank accounts may grow fat. Take the matter into your own hands——"
"We will, we will! How shall we do it?"
The men had become worked up to a high pitch of excitement over their leader's words, which had been skilfully chosen. He had touched the men in a spot where he knew they were the weakest. He had sown the seed that was destined to produce a bountiful crop of bitter weeds, and Cavard, president and walking delegate, smiled complacently behind the hand that he drew across his mouth after having delivered himself of the words.
"How shall we go about it?" repeated one of the men.
"I have here a few notes that I drew up hastily. They form a demand upon our employers for an eight-hour day and a fifty-cent rise for full miners, and twenty-five cents for miners' helpers and all grades below that. It is a most moderate demand. The owners will grant it, you will find, knowing as they do that the power of the union is behind you. I will appoint a committee to formulate the demands set down here. Then we will name a further committee to call upon the superintendent and present these demands."
Cavard named a committee of three, to whom he passed over, not merely notes, as he had said, but a formal paper drawn up in detail, embodying the facts as stated by him.
The committee went through the form of touching up the document, making a mark here and there with a pen and discussing the paper. Finally they announced their task finished.
"When shall we present our demands to the superintendent?" asked the president.
"Right away," answered the members.