"Better lose than win a scab victory," he bellowed.
"Who are you anyway? What grafter sent you here?" he demanded, turning to
Sam.
He launched into a speech. "I have been watching this fellow, I know him.
He has a scheme to break down the union and is being paid by the
capitalists."
Sam waited to hear no more. Getting up he pulled on his canvas jacket and
started for the door. He saw that already he had involved himself in a
dozen violations of the unionist code and the idea of trying to convince
Harrigan of his disinterestedness did not occur to him.
"Do not mind me," he said, "I am going."
He walked between the rows of frightened, white-faced girls and unbolted
the door, the Jewish girl following. At the head of the stairway leading
to the street he stopped and pointed back into the room.
"Go back," he said, handing her a roll of bills. "Carry on the work if you
can. Get other machines and new printing. I will help you in secret."
Turning he ran down the stairs, hurried through the curious crowd standing
at the foot, and walked rapidly along in front of the lighted stores. A
cold rain, half snow, was falling. Beside him walked a young man with a
brown pointed beard, one of the newspaper reporters who had interviewed
him the day before.
Pages:
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414