“No; it’s something about the men. There’s been some trouble amongst them for several days, and—”
“Ginger!” Cavvy straightened up. “Maybe it’s those anarchists. Why don’t they run them out of town? All they do is to try and upset everything and make trouble for the Government. I bet they’re paid by the Germans!”
Mrs. Cavanaugh smiled. She was used to her son’s outbursts.
“Running them out of town isn’t as easy as it sounds,” she said. “Unfortunately, some of them belong here and have their rights like any other citizens.”
“Well, the mayor might do something,” contended Cavvy, applying himself to his lunch. “Does dad think there’s going to be trouble?”
“He didn’t say, but I’m afraid he’s a little worried. They’re to have some kind of a mass meeting this afternoon, and you know how easily those foreigners are sometimes swayed. We’ll hope for the best, though. They’ve always been well treated and seemed contented, and with all this extra work ahead I don’t see how they can possibly complain.”
Her anxiety, and the desire to keep it suppressed, caused her to forget for the moment her intention of forbidding Jim to go near the mine that afternoon. When the omission occurred to her, ten minutes after lunch was over, the boy was nowhere to be found. He had been expecting something of the sort, and had lost no time in departing quietly by the side door. A convenient lane brought him quickly to the rear of the McBride house, where a yodel summoned Micky.
“Hustle,” said Cavvy briefly. “There’s something doing down at the mine and we want to be in on it.”
McBride nodded.
“I heard ’em talking it at lunch. Do you s’pose they’re going to have a strike, or something?”