"To be specific," he spoke impressively, "as things stand now, if one workingman thinks he ought to have more pay he goes to the company and asks for it. The company says no. If he gets troublesome, they fire him. If one man works in a close breast with foul air the company tells him to go back to his work or quit. It costs money to timber bad ground. One poor workman's life doesn't count for much. It's cheaper for the company to take chances than to put in timber." He paused, looking sharply at Bennie. "You're talking sense now. How do you propose to help it?" Morrison felt solid ground beneath his feet. "Do as I said. Learn from the rich. Unite. If the men are not getting fair wages, the union can demand more." Bennie lifted an inquiring finger. "One word there. You want to organise a union?" "That's it. That's the stuff." Morrison was flatteringly acquiescent. "A company can turn down one man, but the union will shove it up to them hard." "If one man breaks five tons of ore a day, and another man breaks only one, will the union see that both get the same pay?" "A workingman is a workingman." Morrison spoke less enthusiastically. "A man that puts in his time earns all that he gets." Bennie looked musingly at the toes of his boots. "The union will equalise the pay?" "You bet it will!" "They'll make the company ventilate the mines and keep bad ground timbered?" "They'll look after these things sharp, and anything else that comes up." "The union will run the company, but who'll run the union?" Morrison waxed enthusiastic. "We'll take our turn at bossing all right. Every man in the union stands on the same floor, and when any of the boys have a grievance the president will see them through. The president and the executive committee can tie up the whole camp if the company bucks." "Is the union organised?" asked Bennie. "Not yet. It's like this." Morrison's voice had a tinge of patronage. "You see, I want to get a few of the level-headed men in the camp worked up to the idea; the rest will come in, hands down." "Who have you got strung?" "Well, there's Luna, and----" "Luna's a crowd by himself. He's got more faces than a town-clock telling time to ten streets. Who else?" "There's Thompson, the mine foreman----" "Jim Thompson? Don't I know him now? He'll throw more stunts than a small boy with a bellyful of green apples. Who else?" Morrison looked a little sulky. "Well, how about yourself. That's what I'm here to find out." Bennie glared up wrathfully.