“Yep.” But Spide was not ready to drop the fascinating subject of the strike. He wished to astonish Clarence, who was altogether too knowing.
“The meeting was in the room over Jack Britt's saloon,” he volunteered.
“I suppose you think we didn't know that up at the office. We got our spies out. There ain't nothing the hands can do we ain't on to.”
Spide wrote his initials in the soft bank of the ditch with his big toe, while he meditated on what he could tell next.
“Well, sir, you'd 'a' been surprised if you'd 'a' been there.”
“Was you there, Spide?”
“Yep.”
“Oh, come off; you can't stuff me.”
“I was, too, there. The old lady sent me down to fetch pap home. She was afraid he'd get full. Joe Stokes was there, and Lou Bentick, and a whole slew of others, and Griff Ryder.”
Clarence gasped with astonishment. “Why, he ain't one of the hands.”