“Not so you could notice it,” said Mr. Clarey. “And once the Republican party gets in—”
“Then there will never be a revolution.”
“Why?”
“That's why,” said Willy Cameron. “Of course you are worthless now. You aren't organized. You don't know how many you are or how strong you are. You can't talk. You sit back and listen until you believe that this country is only capital and labor. You get squeezed in between them. You see labor getting more money than you, and howling for still more. You see both capital and labor raising prices until you can't live on what you get. There are a hundred times as many of you as represent capital and labor combined, and all you do is loaf here and growl about things being wrong. Why don't you do something? You ought to be running this country, but you aren't. You're lazy. You don't even vote. You leave running the country to men like Mr. Hendricks here.”
Mr. Hendricks was cheerfully unirritated.
“All right, son,” he said, “I do my bit and like it. Go on. Don't stop to insult me. You can do that any time.”
“I've been buying a seditious weekly since I came,” said Willy Cameron. “It's preaching a revolution, all right. I'd like to see its foreign language copies. They'll never overthrow the government, but they may try. Why don't you fellows combine to fight them? Why don't you learn how strong you are? Nine-tenths of the country, and milling like sheep with a wolf around!”
Mr. Hendricks winked at the doctor.
“What'd I tell you?” whispered Hendricks. “Got them, hasn't he? If he'd suggest arming them with pop bottles and attacking that gang of anarchists at the cobbler's down the street, they'd do it this minute.”
“All right, son,” he offered. “We'll combine. Anything you say goes. And we'll get the Jim Doyle-Woslosky-Louis Akers outfit first. I know a first-class brick wall—”