don't seem any other way for the workingmen to get justice. They say that
sometimes strikes do raise the wages, after a while."

"Those lazy devils were paid enough already," shrieked the old man.

"They got two dollars a day. How much do you think they ought to 'a' got?
Twenty?"

Conrad hesitated, with a beseeching look at his father. But he decided to
answer. "The men say that with partial work, and fines, and other things,
they get sometimes a dollar, and sometimes ninety cents a day."

"They lie, and you know they lie," said his father, rising and coming
toward him. "And what do you think the upshot of it all will be, after
they've ruined business for another week, and made people hire hacks, and
stolen the money of honest men? How is it going to end?"

"They will have to give in."

"Oh, give in, heigh! And what will you say then, I should like to know?
How will you feel about it then? Speak!"

"I shall feel as I do now. I know you don't think that way, and I don't
blame you--or anybody. But if I have got to say how I shall feel, why, I
shall feel sorry they didn't succeed, for I believe they have a righteous
cause, though they go the wrong way to help themselves."

His father came close to him, his eyes blazing, his teeth set. "Do you
dare so say that to me?"