"Um! Le's see. First of all, youse'll fire the scabs?"
"Yes."
"Seems to me I give youse the chance to do that before, an' end it right there. But it can't end there now. There's the wages the men's lost. Youse'll have to pay waitin' time."
"Extortion, you mean," Mr. Driscoll could not refrain from saying.
"Waitin' time," Foley corrected blandly.
"Well,—how much?" Mr. Driscoll remarked to himself that he knew what part of the "waiting time" the men would get.
Foley looked at the ceiling and appeared to calculate. "The waitin' time'll cost youse an even thousand."
"What!"
"If youse ain't learnt your lesson yet, youse might as well go back." He made as if to resume his paper.
Mr. Driscoll swallowed hard. "Oh, I'll pay. What else can I do? You've got me in a corner with a gun to my head."