runs this place. The socialist says money is power. Well, there's a man
inside here who has the money, but you bet I've got the power."

Slapping his knees with his hands Jim laughed heartily. A week before, a
traveling man had come to the shop to sell machine-made harness. Joe had
ordered the man out and Jim had called him back. He had placed an order for
eighteen sets of the harness and had made Joe sign the order. The harness
had arrived that afternoon and was now hung in the shop. "It's hanging in
the shop now," Jim cried. "Go see for yourself."

Triumphantly Jim walked up and down before the men on the sidewalk, and
his voice rang through the shop where Joe sat on his harness-maker's horse
under a swinging lamp hard at work. "I tell you, character's the thing
that counts," the roaring voice cried. "You see I'm a workingman like you
fellows, but I don't join a union or a socialist party. I get my way. My
boss Joe in there's a sentimental old fool, that's what he is. All his life
he's made harnesses by hand and he thinks that's the only way. He claims he
has pride in his work, that's what he claims."

Jim laughed again. "Do you know what he did the other day when that
traveler had gone out of the shop and after I had made him sign that
order?" he asked. "Cried, that's what he did. By God, he did,--sat there
and cried."

Again Jim laughed, but the workmen on the sidewalk did not join in his
merriment. Going to one of them, the one who had declared his intention of
joining the union, Jim began to berate him. "You think you can lick Ed Hall
with Steve Hunter and Tom Butterworth back of him, eh?" he asked sharply.
"Well, I'll tell you what--you can't. All the unions in the world won't
help you. You'll get licked--for why?