“Go to some tall buildin' on Broadway, and have a talk with one of them big lawyers.”
Thus it came about that as Mr. Hargrew, whose specialty was corporation law, was glancing over his mail the next morning, a low-voiced clerk informed him that one Feeny earnestly desired speech with him.
“He's Irish, and has a couple of men with him. It looks like the executive council of some labor union,” the clerk added.
“Show them in,” said the lawyer.
“Mornin',” said Mr. Feeny.
“Good morning,” said the lawyer.
“Feeny's me name, and I'm a retired Captain of Industry from the United States of Ireland. If you've read the mornin' papers you've seen how that other great Captain of Industry, Mr. MacCandlish, and a party of friends was picked up off an island in the Gulf of Mexico.”
The lawyer nodded.
“Yes, I've read about that,” he said.
“We was the Orinoco's coal heavers. It's us that saved the lives of them babes of millionaires. We stood by them when the sailors had quit the ship, we salvaged the wreck, and fed and tended 'em. We done all the hard work, and organized a government, and made that island so homelike you couldn't have told it from New York. Everything was legal, and I ask you if the rise in the price of staples wasn't a natural rise, owin' to the law of supply and demand?”