So help me God! I will take no work
home to my house; and I call upon every one here to combine, and to sign a
protest to that effect."
"What's the use of that, my good Mr. Crossthwaite?" interrupted some one,
querulously. "Don't you know what came of the strike a few years ago, when
this piece-work and sweating first came in? The masters made fine promises,
and never kept 'em; and the men who stood out had their places filled up
with poor devils who were glad enough to take the work at any price--just
as ours will be. There's no use kicking against the pricks. All the rest
have come to it, and so must we. We must live somehow, and half a loaf is
better than no bread; and even that half loaf will go into other men's
mouths, if we don't snap at it at once. Besides, we can't force others to
strike. We may strike and starve ourselves, but what's the use of a dozen
striking out of 20,000?"
"Will you sign the protest, gentlemen, or not?" asked Crossthwaite, in a
determined voice.
Some half-dozen said they would if the others would.
"And the others won't. Well, after all, one man must take the
responsibility, and I am that man.
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