strike. They sent for me to come and address them. I went with J. G. Brown. As I was about to go on the boat, the Canadian Immigration officers asked me where I was going.
"To Victoria," I told them.
"No you're not," said an officer, "you're going to the strike zone."
"I might travel a bit," said I.
"You can't go," said he, like he was Cornwallis.
"Why?"
"I don't have to give reasons," said he as proudly as if the American Revolution had never been fought.
"You'll have to state your reasons to my uncle," said I, "and I'll be crossing before morning."
"Who is your uncle?"
"Uncle Sam's my uncle," said I. "He cleaned Hell out of you once and he'll do it again. You let down those bars. I'm going to Canada."
"You'll not put a boot in Canada," said he.
"You'll find out before night who's boss on this side the water," said I.
I returned to Labor Headquarters with Brown and we telegraphed the Emigration Department, the Labor Department and the Secretary of State at Washington. They got in touch with the Canadian Government at Ottawa. That very afternoon I got a telegram
