"We walk up and down here and try to get a
word with the strikebreakers the boss has brought in from other towns,
when they go in and come out."
Frank, the University man, spoke up. "We are putting up stickers
everywhere," he said. "I myself have put up hundreds of them."
He took from his coat pocket a printed slip, gummed on one side, and told
Sam that he had been putting them on walls and telegraph poles about town.
The thing was vilely written. "Down with the dirty scabs" was the heading
in bold, black letters across the top.
Sam was shocked at the vileness of the caption and at the crude brutality
of the text printed on the slip.
"Do you call women workers names like that?" he asked.
"They have taken our work from us," the Jewish girl answered simply and
began again, telling the story of her sister strikers and of what the low
wage had meant to them and to their families. "To me it does not so much
matter; I have a brother who works in a clothing store and he can support
me, but many of the women in our union have only their wage here with
which to feed their families."
Sam's mind began working on the problem.
"Here," he declared, "is something definite to do, a battle in which I
will pit myself against this employer for the sake of these women.
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