whom he worked made no effort to conceal it from him; Shelton, already a member of the union and its advocate, would discuss it with him in the intermissions, while Tom and Bill and others of the men would sit and listen. Floyd disavowed hostility, but tried to present such arguments as should cause them to hesitate. The day the second Italian was killed, Shelton said to him,—
"It's well enough so long as we all know that if we're hurt or killed at our work the company pays the expense. But supposing the company don't always do that? We want an organization that will—"
"The company will always do it; I can promise that," said Floyd.
"Well," Shelton grumbled, "maybe so. But even so—it might be better for us to feel more independent—"
"You think that joining the union makes men independent?"
"Yes, of some things."
"The generosity of their employers, and what else?"
"Well, even supposing we was to let it go at that. Would n't it be more self-respecting?"
"Oh, shucks!" said Floyd with a laugh. "Come and let's pitch quoits."
He never went far in these arguments with any of the men; he admitted to them quite frankly that his inexperience in the subject qualified him to listen rather than to speak. They seemed not to disguise their sentiments in talking before him, and this pleased him. So far as he could judge, even those most outspoken for "organization" had no grievance that they wished redressed, no definite end that they hoped by organizing to accomplish; their argument was simply that they would be putting themselves in a better position to lay complaints, to defend themselves against aggression, to command the granting of their utmost rights. It interested Floyd to learn that Tustin, the grim, silent man with the crooked smile, who was Mrs. Bell's next-door neighbor, was one of the most
