They can talk their fool socialism all
they want, but we'll show 'em, the fools."
His angry mood passed, and as the car turned into the last fifteen-mile
stretch of road that led to Bidwell, he told the tale that so deeply
stirred his passengers. Chuckling softly he told of the struggle of the
Bidwell harness maker, Joe Wainsworth, to prevent the sale of machine-made
harness in the community, and of his experience with his employee, Jim
Gibson. Tom had heard the tale in the bar-room of the Bidwell House and
it had made a profound impression on his mind. "I'll tell you what," he
declared, "I'm going to get in touch with Jim Gibson. That's the kind of
man to handle workers. I only heard about him to-night, but I'm going to
see him to-morrow."
Leaning back in his seat Tom laughed heartily as he told of the traveling
man who had visited Joe Wainsworth's shop and the placing of the order for
the factory-made harness. In some intangible way he felt that when Jim
Gibson laid the order for the harness on the bench in the shop and by the
force of his personality compelled Joe Wainsworth to sign, he justified
all such men as himself. In imagination he lived in that moment with Jim,
and like Jim the incident aroused his inclination to boast. "Why, a lot
of cheap laboring skates can't down such men as myself any more than Joe
Wainsworth could down that Jim Gibson," he declared.
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