The picket at the shirtwaist factory reported that three more of
the strikebreakers had left the plant. The Jewish girl was excited. She
went hurrying about the room, her eyes glowing.
"It's great," she said. "The plan is working. The whole town is aroused
and for us. We'll win in another twenty-four hours."
And then at seven o'clock that night Harrigan came into the room where Sam
sat with the assembled girls, bolting the door behind him. He was a short,
strongly built man with blue eyes and red hair. He walked about the room
in silence, followed by Frank. Suddenly he stopped and, picking up one of
the typewriting machines rented by Sam for the letter writing, raised it
above his head and sent it smashing to the floor.
"A hell of a strike leader," he roared. "Look at this. Scab machines!
"Scab stenographers!" he said through his teeth. "Scab printing! Scab
everything!"
Picking up a bundle of the letterheads, he tore them across, and walking
to the front of the room, shook his fist before Sam's face.
"Scab leader!" he shouted, turning and facing the girls.
The soft-eyed Jewish girl sprang to her feet.
"He's winning for us," she said.
Harrigan walked toward her threateningly.
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