"They ain't got the
character, you see, that's what the matter, they ain't got the character."
Tom touched some mechanism connected with the engine of the car and it shot
suddenly forward. "Suppose one of them labor leaders were standing in the
road there," he cried. Instinctively Hugh leaned forward and peered into
the darkness through which the lights of the car cut like a great scythe,
and on the back seat Clara half rose to her feet. Tom shouted with delight
and as the car plunged along the road his voice rose in triumph. "The damn
fools!" he cried. "They think they can stop the machines. Let 'em try. They
want to go on in their old hand-made way. Let 'em look out. Let 'em look
out for such men as Jim Gibson and me."
Down a slight incline in the road shot the car and swept around a wide
curve, and then the jumping, dancing light, running far ahead, revealed a
sight that made Tom thrust out his foot and jam on the brakes.
In the road and in the very center of the circle of light, as though
performing a scene on the stage, three men were struggling. As the car
came to a stop, so sudden that it pitched both Clara and Hugh out of their
seats, the struggle came to an end. One of the struggling figures, a small
man without coat or hat, had jerked himself away from the others and
started to run toward the fence at the side of the road and separating it
from a grove of trees.
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