declared. "Yes, sir, they will; and if I calculate right Bidwell'll be the
great tire town of the world."

For a long time Tom drove in silence, and when he again began to talk it
was a new mood. He told a tale of life in Bidwell that stirred both Hugh
and Clara deeply. He was angry and had Clara not been in the car would have
become violently profane.

"I'd like to hang the men who are making trouble in the shops in town," he
broke forth. "You know who I mean, I mean the labor men who are trying to
make trouble for Steve Hunter and me. There's a socialist talking every
night on the street over there. I'll tell you, Hugh, the laws of this
country are wrong." For ten minutes he talked of the labor difficulties in
the shops.

"They better look out," he declared, and was so angry that his voice rose
to something like a suppressed scream. "We're inventing new machines pretty
fast now-days," he cried. "Pretty soon we'll do all the work by machines.
Then what'll we do? We'll kick all the workers out and let 'em strike till
they're sick, that's what we'll do. They can talk their fool socialism all
they want, but we'll show 'em, the fools."

His angry mood passed, and as the car turned into the last fifteen-mile
stretch of road that led to Bidwell, he told the tale that so deeply
stirred his passengers. Chuckling softly he told of the struggle of the
Bidwell harness maker, Joe Wainsworth, to prevent the sale of machine-made
harness in the community, and of his experience with his employee, Jim
Gibson. Tom had heard the tale in the bar-room of the Bidwell House and
it had made a profound impression on his mind. "I'll tell you what," he
declared, "I'm going to get in touch with Jim Gibson. That's the kind of