"Did Harrigan trim you?" asked the young man, and then added, laughing,
"He told us he intended to throw you down stairs."
Sam walked on in silence, filled with wrath. He turned into a side street
and stopped when his companion put a hand upon his arm.
"This is our dump," said the young man, pointing to a long low frame
building facing the side street. "Come in and let us have your story. It
should be a good one."
Inside the newspaper office another young man sat with his head lying on a
flat-top desk. He was clad in a strikingly flashy plaid coat, had a little
wizened, good-natured face and seemed to have been drinking. The young man
with the beard explained Sam's identity, taking the sleeping man by the
shoulder and shaking him vigorously.
"Wake up, Skipper! There's a good story here!" he shouted. "The union has
thrown out the mail-order strike leader!"
The Skipper got to his feet and began shaking his head.
"Of course, of course, Old Top, they would throw you out. You've got some
brains. No man with brains can lead a strike. It's against the laws of
Nature. Something was bound to hit you. Did Roughneck come out from
Pittsburgh?" he asked, turning to the young man of the brown beard.
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