a strike these labor union days? Meetin's an' votes, an' grievance committees, an' strike committees, an' all the head buckies in the unions buttin' in? How do you know the Central would stand by us?"
"I tell you everything in labor in this district will stand by you. I know what I'm saying. What the devil makes you so chicken-hearted and suspicious?"
The man with the shock of red hair laid his arms on the table and leaned across toward Lamar.
"Look here, Steve," he said, "let's be plain about this thing. No beatin' around the bush. Do you want a strike at the Malleson?"
"I want a strike at the Malleson."
"What for?"
"I'll tell you later. I've got a damned good reason."
The man with the red hair leaned still farther across the table, and spoke in a whisper.
"What is there in it," he asked, "for me?"
Lamar rose, went to the door that led into the room and locked it, dropped the ventilating sash above it, pulled down the shade at the window, and resumed his seat at the table. After that the conversation between the two men was carried on in subdued tones.
Twenty minutes later they came out into the bar-room. The man who had given the lie to Lamar was gone. So were most of those who had heard him. But their places were more than filled by others who had come in.
Lamar called all hands to the bar. The drinks, he said, were on him.
"That's right!" affirmed Bricky, nodding to every one. "It's Steve's treat. Say what you'll have."
When the glasses were all filled Lamar raised his and said:
"Here's to better times and better wages!"
"And to the man that brings 'em!" added Bricky.
So they all drank.
