“Well,” argued Hal, “there are prejudices to be reckoned with. Some people don’t like the idea of a union—they think it means tyranny and violence—”
The organiser laughed. “You aren’t convinced but that it does yourself, are you! Well, all I can tell you is, if you want to tackle the job of getting a check-weighman in North Valley, I’ll not stand in your way!”
Here was an idea—a real idea! Life had grown dull for Hal since he had become a buddy, working in a place five feet high. This would promise livelier times!
But was it a thing he wanted to do? So far he had been an observer of conditions in this coal-camp. He had convinced himself that conditions were cruel, and he had pretty well convinced himself that the cruelty was needless and deliberate. But when it came to a question of an action to be taken—then he hesitated, and old prejudices and fears made themselves heard. He had been told that labour was “turbulent” and “lazy,” that it had to be “ruled with a strong hand”; now, was he willing to weaken the strong hand, to ally himself with those who “fomented labour troubles”?
But this would not be the same thing, he told himself. This suggestion of Olson’s was different from trade unionism, which might be a demoralising force, leading the workers from one demand to another, until they were seeking to “dominate industry.” This would be merely an appeal to the law, a test of that honesty and fair dealing to which the company everywhere laid claim. If, as the bosses proclaimed, the workers were fully protected by the check-weighman law; if, as all the world was made to believe, the reason there was no check-weighman was simply because the men did not ask for one—why, then there would be no harm done. If on the other hand a demand for a right that was not merely a legal right, but a moral right as well—if that were taken by the bosses as an act of rebellion against the company—well, Hal would understand a little more about the “turbulence” of labour! If, as Old Mike and Johannson and the rest maintained, the bosses would “make your life one damn misery” till you left—then he would be ready to make a few damn miseries for the bosses in return!
“It would be an adventure,” said Hal, suddenly.
And the other laughed. “It would that!”
“You’re thinking I’ll have another Pine Creek experience,” Hal added. “Well, maybe so—but I have to try things out for myself. You see, I’ve got a brother at home, and when I think about going in for revolution, I have imaginary arguments with him. I want to be able to say ‘I didn’t swallow anybody’s theories; I tried it for myself, and this is what happened.’ ”
“Well,” replied the organiser, “that’s all right. But while you’re seeking education for yourself and your brother, don’t forget that I’ve already got my education. I know what happens to men who ask for a check-weighman, and I can’t afford to sacrifice myself proving it again.”
“I never asked you to,” laughed Hal. “If I won’t join your movement, I can’t expect you to join mine! But if I can find a few men who are willing to take the risk of making a demand for a check-weighman—that won’t hurt your work, will it?”
“Sure not!” said the other. “Just the opposite—it’ll give me an object lesson to point to. There are men here who don’t even know they’ve a legal right to a check-weighman. There are others who know they don’t get their weights, but aren’t sure its the company that’s cheating them. If the bosses should refuse to let anyone inspect the weights, if they should go further and fire the men who ask it—well, there’ll be plenty of recruits for my union local!”
“All right,” said Hal. “I’m not setting out to recruit your union local, but if the company wants to recruit it, that’s the company’s affair!” And on this bargain the two shook hands.
Book II
The Serfs of King Coal
I
Hal was now started upon a new career, more full of excitements than that of stableman or buddy, with perils greater than those of falling rock or the hind feet of mules in the stomach. The inertia which overwork produces had not had time to become a disease with him; youth was on his side, with its zest for more and yet more experience. He found it thrilling to be a conspirator, to carry about with him secrets as dark and mysterious as the passages of the mine in which he worked.
But Jerry Minetti, the first person he told of Tom Olson’s purpose in North Valley, was older in such thrills. The carefree look which Jerry was accustomed to wear vanished abruptly, and fear came into his eyes. “I know it come some day,” he exclaimed—“trouble for me and Rosa!”
“How do you mean?”
“We get into it—get in sure. I say Rosa, ‘Call yourself Socialist—what good that do? No help any. No use to vote here—they don’t count no Socialist vote, only for joke!’ I say, ‘Got to have union. Got to strike!’ But Rosa say, ‘Wait little bit. Save little bit money, let children grow up. Then we help, no care if we no got any home.’ ”
“But we’re not going to start a union now!” objected Hal. “I have another plan for the present.”
Jerry, however, was not to be put at ease. “No can wait!” he declared. “Men no stand it! I say, ‘It come some day quick—like blowup in mine! Somebody start fight, everybody fight.’ ” And Jerry looked at Rosa, who sat with her black eyes fixed anxiously upon her husband. “We get into it,” he said; and Hal saw their eyes turn to the room where Little Jerry and the baby were sleeping.
Hal said nothing—he was beginning to
