"What do you do, Jack?" the fatter one asked.
"Stack boxes."
"Got a union card?"
I shook my head.
"Application?"
"No," I said. "I'm just helping out during Christmas."
"You're a scab, buddy," Long-legs said. "Don't you read the papers?"
"I don't like comic strips," I said.
They sighed. I think they hated to do it, but I was bucking the system.
Fats hit me high. Long-legs hit me low. I blew cracker crumbs into their faces. After that, I just let them go. I know how to take a beating. That's one thing I knew.