"I tell you, character's the thing
that counts," the roaring voice cried. "You see I'm a workingman like you
fellows, but I don't join a union or a socialist party. I get my way. My
boss Joe in there's a sentimental old fool, that's what he is. All his life
he's made harnesses by hand and he thinks that's the only way. He claims he
has pride in his work, that's what he claims."
Jim laughed again. "Do you know what he did the other day when that
traveler had gone out of the shop and after I had made him sign that
order?" he asked. "Cried, that's what he did. By God, he did,--sat there
and cried."
Again Jim laughed, but the workmen on the sidewalk did not join in his
merriment. Going to one of them, the one who had declared his intention of
joining the union, Jim began to berate him. "You think you can lick Ed Hall
with Steve Hunter and Tom Butterworth back of him, eh?" he asked sharply.
"Well, I'll tell you what--you can't. All the unions in the world won't
help you. You'll get licked--for why?
"For why? Because Ed Hall is like me, that's for why. He's got character,
that's what he's got."
Growing weary of his boasting and the silence of his audience, Jim started
to walk in at the door, but when one of the workmen, a pale man of fifty
with a graying mustache, spoke, he turned to listen. "You're a suck, a suck
and a lickspittle, that's what you are," said the pale man, his voice
trembling with passion.
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