"Fine!" says Hartley. "Say, Torchy, stick around if you want to be entertained. I have a message for him."
"I'll be on hand," says I. "Here he comes now."
As old Z. K. stalks in, still red in the ears from his debate outside, Hartley climbs down off the step ladder. For a minute or so the old man don't seem to see him any more'n he does any of the other workmen that he's had to dodge around. Not until Hartley steps right up to him and remarks: "Mr. Tyler, I believe?" does Z. K. stop and let out a gasp.
"Hah!" he snorts. "Hartley, eh? Well, what does this mean—a masquerade?"
"Not at all," says Hartley. "This is my regular work."
"Oh, it is, eh?" says he. "Well, keep at it then. Why do you knock off to talk to me?"
"Because I have something to say to you, sir," says Hartley. "You sent a couple of non-union plumbers down here the other day, didn't you?"
"What if I did?" demands Z. K. "Got to get the work finished somehow, haven't I?"
"You'll never get it finished with scab labor, Mr. Tyler," says Hartley. "You have tried that before, haven't you? Well, this is final. Send those plumbers off at once or I will call out every other man on the job."
"Wh-a-a-at!" gasps Z. K. "You will! What in thunder have you got to do with it?"