“I shouldn't think there would be very much doubt as to what to do,” said Ellen.
Granville stared at her over his shoulder in a perplexed, admiring fashion. “You mean—?” he asked.
“I shouldn't think there would be any doubt.”
“Well, I don't know. It is a pretty serious thing to get out of work in midwinter for a good many of us, and as long as the union isn't in control, other men can come in. I don't know.”
“I know,” said Ellen.
“You mean—?”
“I mean that I do not think it right, that it is unjust, and I believe in resisting injustice.”
“Men have resisted injustice ever since the Creation,” said Granville, in a bitter voice.
“Well, resistance can continue as long as life lasts,” returned Ellen. Just then came a fiercer blast than ever, laden with a stinging volley of snow, and seemed to sweep the words from the girl's mouth. She bent before it involuntarily, and the conviction forced itself upon her that, after all, resistance to injustice might be as futile as resistance to storm, that injustice might be one of the primal forces of the world, and one of the conditions of its endurance, and yet with the conviction came the renewed resolution to resist.
“What can poor men do against capital unless they are backed up by some labor organization?” asked Granville. “And I don't believe there are a dozen in the factory who belong to the union. There has been an understanding, without his ever saying so that I know of, that the old boss didn't approve of it. So lots of us kept out of it, we wanted work so bad. What can we do against such odds?”