Snow on the headlight : $b a story of the great Burlington strike — John Shaqi
Snow on the headlight : $b a story of the great Burlington strikeWarman, Cy
General
Snow on the headlight : $b a story of the great Burlington strike
Warman, Cy
Burlington Strike, 1888 -- Fiction; Strikes and lockouts -- Fiction
"Would you pay in advance?" asked Mrs. Cowels.
"I shouldn't mind," said the plumber, "if it would be of any advantage
to you."
"Then you can have the room."
"Very well," said the man, apparently delighted with his bargain, and he
gave her a crisp ten-dollar note. He also gave Bennie a big, red apple,
and looked surprised when the boy began to bite great chunks out of it.
That evening when Cowels came home he found the house filled with the
fumes of boiled beef, and it put him in a good humor at once. He was
hungry, having had nothing all day but a glass of beer and a free lunch.
"They's a man up-stairs," said Bennie, shoving his empty plate up for
another load of boiled beef. Mrs. Cowels smiled a faint smile, and her
husband asked:
"Who is this fellow?"
"He's a plumber," was the reply, "and he seems like a very nice man."
"Did he pay a month in advance?"
"Yes."
"Well, I don't like the idea of having strangers in the house," said
Cowels, "and I wish you had not taken him in."
"I dislike it too, George," said Mrs. Cowels, "but the baker had refused
me a loaf of bread, the children were hungry and you might as well know
now that I can never see my babies suffer for want of food, and you
need not be surprised at anything I may do to supply their wants."
Cowels had never seen his wife display so much spirit and it surprised
him. "It's all very well," she went on, "to prate about honor and
loyalty to the Brotherhood, but an obligation that entails the suffering
of innocent women and children is not an honorable obligation and ought
not to exist. A man's first duty is to his family. My advice to you
would be to miss a few meetings and go and try to find something to do.
Think how we have denied ourselves in order to have a place of our own,
and now it's all to be taken from us, and all because of this senseless
and profitless strike."
"By George, she's a cracker-jack!" said Hawkins, who had been listening
down the stove-pipe.
Cowels made no reply to his wife, but he was thinking. In fact, he had
been thinking all the way home. He had been interrupted twice that day
while addressing the meeting. One fellow had asked who the devil
Shakespeare was, and if he had ever done anything for the Union. Another
man had said "rats," and the orator was sore.
Now, when he had thought it all over, he surprised his wife as much as
she had surprised him. "They're all a lot of unliterate ingrates," said
Cowels, "and for two cents I'd shake the whole show and go to work. If
they turn me down at the convention, and this strike is not settled,
I'll take an engine."
Mr. Hawkins gave a low whistle.
"No, you must never do that, George, after all you've said against such
things; it would not do."
"Then they must not drive me to it," said Cowels. "I've tried to show
them the way to success, even to lead them, and they have the nerve to
guy me. I'll fool 'em yet if they trifle with me."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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