Volume V Part 9 (2/2)

Then Danny was discharged--and he laughed. Discharge _him_! Well, he'd show them a thing or two.

”We'll arbitrate,” he announced.

”Get out!” ordered the manager.

”You got to arbitrate,” insisted Danny. ”You got to confer with your men or you're goin' to have a strike!” Danny had heard so much about conferences that he felt he was on safe ground now. ”We can't stand fer no autycrats!” he added. ”You got to meet your men fair an' talk it over. A committee--”

”Get out!” repeated the manager, rising from his desk, near which the waiting boys were seated.

”Men,” yelled Danny, ”I calls a strike an' a boycott!”

Two of the boys rose as if to follow him, but the manager was too quick.

He had Danny by the collar before Danny knew what had happened, and the struggling boy was marched to the door and pushed out. The boys who had risen promptly subsided.

Danny was too astonished for words. In all his extended hearsay knowledge of strikes he never had heard of anything like this. There was nothing heroic in it at all. He had expected a conference, and, instead, he was ignominiously handled and thrust into the street.

Danny sat down on a pile of paving-stones to think it over. Without reasoning the matter out, he now regarded himself as a union. The other members had deserted him, but he was on a strike; and somehow he had absorbed the idea that the men who were striking were always the union men. So, this being a strike of one, he was an entire union. It did not take him long to decide that the first thing to do was to ”picket the plant.” That was a familiar phrase, and he knew the meaning of it.

Everything was nicely arranged for him, too. The street was being paved, and he was sitting on some paving-stones, with a pile of gravel beside him. He selected fifteen or twenty of the largest stones from the gravel-pile.

A woman was the first victim. As she was about to enter the messenger-office she was startled by a yell of warning from Danny.

”Hey, you!” he shouted. ”Keep out!”

She backed away hastily, and looked up to see if anything were about to fall on her.

”Why should I keep out?” she asked at last.

”'Cause you'll git hit with a rock if you don't,” was the prompt reply.

”But, little boy--” she began.

”I ain't a little boy,” a.s.serted Danny. ”I'm a union.”

The woman looked puzzled, but she finally decided that this was some boyish joke.

”You'd better run home,” she said, and turned to enter the messenger-office. She could not refrain from looking over her shoulder, however, and she saw that he was poised for a throw.

”Don't do that!” she cried hastily. ”You might hurt me.”

”Sure I'll hurt you,” was the reply. ”I'll smash your block in if you don't git a move on.”

The woman decided to look for another messenger-office, and Danny, triumphant, resumed his seat on the paving-stones.

Then came another messenger, returning from a trip.

”What's the matter, Danny?” he asked.

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