"I've tried that"—sarcastically—"thanks."
"That's what's the matter with you bosses! You think more of dollars than you do of self-respect!"
Mr. Driscoll trembled. "Young man, d'you know who you're talking to?"
"I do!" Tom cried hotly. "To the man who's firing me because he's too cowardly to stand up for what's right!"
Mr. Driscoll glared, his eyes clicked. Then he gave a great swallow. "I guess you're about right. But if I understand the situation, I guess there's a lot of men in your union that'd rather hold their jobs than stand up for what's right."
Tom, in his turn, had his fires drawn. "And I guess you're about right, too," he had to admit.
"I may be a coward," Mr. Driscoll went on, "but if a man puts a gun to my head and says he'll pull the trigger unless I do what he says, I've got to do it, that's all. And I rather guess you would, too. But let's pass this by. I've got a plan. Foley can make me put you off one job, but he can't make me fire you. Let's see; I'm paying you thirty a week, ain't I?"
"That's it."
"Well, I'm going to give you thirty-five a week and put you to work in the shop as a superintendent. Foley can't touch you there,—or me either. Isn't that all right?" Mr. Driscoll wore a look of half-hearted triumph.
Tom had regarded Mr. Driscoll so long with dislike that even this proposal, apparently uttered in good faith, made him suspicious. He began to search for a hidden motive.