"Well--we help each other," he blurted out.
"Do you do any helpin'?"
"Yis;" stiffening a little. "I'm the walkin' delegate of our
branch."
"Oh, ye're the walkin' delegate! You don't pay no two dollars,
then, do ye!"
"No. There's got to be somebody a-goin' round all the time, an'
Dinnis Quigg and me's confidential agents of the branch, an' what
we says goes"--slapping his overalls decisively with his fist.
McGaw's suggested stopper was being loosened on the vinegar.
Tom's fingers closed tightly. Her collar began to feel small.
"An' I s'pose if ye said I should pay me men double wages, and put
up the price o' haulin' so high that me customers couldn't pay it,
so that some of yer dirty loafers could cut in an' git it, I'd
have to do it, whether I wanted to or not; or maybe ye think I'd
oughter chuck some o' me own boys into the road because they don't
belong to yer branch, as ye call it, and git a lot o' dead beats
to work in their places who don't know a horse from a coal-bucket.
An' ye'll help me, will ye? Come out here on the front porch, Mr.
Crimmins"--opening the door with a jerk. "Do ye see that stable
over there! Well, it covers seven horses; an' the shed has six
carts with all the harness. Back of it--perhaps if ye stand on
yer toes even a little feller like you can see the top of another
shed.
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