Part 45 (2/2)

And now, the real fight. The committee's report was short and definite.

The company had refused to accede to the demands for unionization, even with a waiver of all other claims. The committee recommended that the strike be abandoned as lost, or fought out on the same plan, with the additional difficulty caused by the presence of the soldiers.

Bowden was on his feet, a vindictive snarl in his whole bearing. His eyes swept the crammed benches confidently. He was sure of this crowd.

”I ain't sayin' nothin' against John Dawson, and his runnin' of this strike. But it's failed. Even a blind man can see that. I been in conference--Bob Bivens, John Pooley an' me--with Mr. Kane, the company's adjustment man. He has given me this offer direct from headquarters.”

His look drove this remark straight at Dawson. ”The company is willing to settle the matter”--every attention was frozen to the twisted frown of the weak figure erect in the center of the room--”take the men back, on the same terms as before, with the promise of a raise if there is any profit to make it from, laying aside the question of recognition for the future. And I move that resolution, and that the strike committee be discharged--instead of that bull the committee handed us.”

”Second the motion!” Pooley's voice blended with a dozen others.

The floor swirled with demands for recognition. The chairman picked out the brawny bulk of Dawson, imperatively calling for the chance to reply.

He understood the crisis, and strove to meet it.

”I've been a union man twenty-three years, and I never laid down on a fight yet!”

There was tumultuous applause from the Socialists and the more aggressive of the miners; but it came from a bare half of the hall.

”I'd lie down and die before I'd give up to a gang like that! Accept this dirty proposition which Jack Bowden brings to you--he offered the same thing six months ago, and you wouldn't listen to him--and you set back the union movement in Adamsville ten years. You'll admit you are licked off the map. I don't care whether you call the strike ended, and get into other work here or elsewhere, or keep on fighting--I'll stay here as long as there's any hope, I'll make the national keep me here....

”But don't lie down! They're licked now, and they know it, if you sit steady and don't let them provoke you to violence. You've won, unless----

”You know,” he thundered suddenly, his hairy arm out-stretched toward the shrinking form of the local agent, ”all of you know, that the curse of the American labor movement is the white-livered skunk that sells it out!”

There was wild applause at this, even from the other side of the house.

”I ain't namin' no names, but I say that self-appointed committee that's always runnin' in with offers from the company is treadin' slippery ground ... just like that n.i.g.g.e.r we fired out of here for takin' money from company men. It looks rotten--and, by G.o.d, no man can say that anything I ever did looks rotten! I call on you men to show 'em that Adamsville miners haven't a drop of quitters' blood in their veins!”

Ben Spence was on his feet, tightening his lips nervously. To keep in the good graces of the Socialists and radicals, and at the same time continue to represent the union in its legal affairs, required all of the tact that he possessed.

”Here, brothers, there ain't no use in calling names or showing hard feelings. All of us know what John Dawson's done for us--all of us know that Jack Bowden's been a faithful union man for more years than a horse has teeth.”

There was a grin at this, and a weak rattle of applause, which encouraged him.

”If we can win by agreement, there's no use turning anything down cold.

This offer from Mr. Kane may be just a feeler; maybe the company's ready now to do more. Why not instruct the strike committee, working with brothers Bivens, Pooley, and Bowden, to get in touch with the office again, and see if we can't get more out of them? I believe in using sense at all times. I move that.”

There was a scowl on the faces of the _Voice of Labor_ crowd as the motion was put, but, after all, Bowden reflected, it was at least a half victory. The motion was carried overwhelmingly, and the committee was instructed to act at once.

When he got to his room at the Mecca Hotel, tired and down-hearted, John Dawson stretched at once on the bed. The phone rang abruptly.

”It's for you, Mac,” he called to McGue, who sat scratching his head over a game of solitaire on the greasy wash-stand top.

The shorter man hung up the receiver, puzzled. ”It's from Mr. Brant, of the _Register_, he says--and he wants me to go over to Mr. Judson's office right away to see him on something important.”

”I'm goin' to bed. See you when you come back.” He skidded the huge shoes toward the side of the cheap oak bureau.

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