FullReads

“Now you know there’s a heap of difference between the Stock Yards and Chicago–it’s just like coming from Arkansas over into the United States.

“Well, soon as I sold the stock I hit for the lake front and began to ground sluice the coal dust off of my palate.

“I was busy working my booze hydraulic when I see an arid appearin’ pilgrim ‘longside lookin’ thirsty as an alkali flat.

“‘Get in,’ says I, and the way he obeyed orders looked like he’d had military training. I felt sort of drawed to him from the way he handled his licker; took it straight and runnin’ over; then sopped his hands on the bar and smelled of his fingers. He seemed to just soak it up both ways–reg’lar human blotter.

“‘You lap it up like a man,’ says I, ‘like a cowman–full growed–ever been West?’

“‘Nope,’ says he, ‘born here.’

“‘Well I’m a stranger,’ says I, ‘out absorbin’ such beauties of architecture and free lunch as offers along the line. If I ain’t keepin’ you up, I’d be glad of your company.’

“‘I’m your assistant lunch buster,’ says he, and in the course of things he further explained that he was a tugboat fireman, out on a strike, givin’ me the follerin’ information about the tie-up:–

“It all come up over a dose of dyspepsia–“

“Back up,” interrupted Kink squirming, “are you plumb bug? Get together! You’re certainly the Raving Kid. Ye must have stone bruised your heel and got concession of the brain.”

“Yes sir! Indigestion,” Billings continued. “Old man Badrich, of the Badrich Transportation Company has it terrible. It lands on his solar every morning about nine o’clock, gettin’ worse steady, and reaches perihelion along about eleven. He can tell the time of day by taste. One morning when his mouth felt like about ten-forty-five in comes a committee from Firemen & Engineers Local No. 21, with a demand for more wages, proddin’ him with the intimations that if he didn’t ante they’d tie up all his boats.”

“I ‘spose a teaspoonful of bakin’ soda, assimilated internally around the environments of his appendix would have spared the strike and cheated me out of bein’ a hero. As the poet might have said–‘Upon such slender pegs is this, our greatness hung.'”

“Oh, Gawd!” exclaimed Mulling, piously.

“Anyhow, the bitterness in the old man’s inner tubes showed in the bile of his answer, and he told ’em if they wanted more money he’d give ’em a chance to earn it–they could work nights as well as days. He intimated further that they’d ought to be satisfied with their wages as they’d undoubtedly foller the same line of business in the next world, and wouldn’t get a cent for feedin’ the fires neither.

“Next mornin’ the strike was called, and the guy that breathed treachery and walk-outs was one ‘Oily’ Heegan, further submerged under the titles of President of the Federation of Fresh Water Firemen; also Chairman of the United Water-front Workmen, which last takes in everything doin’ business along the river except the wharf-rats and typhoid germs, and it’s with the disreputableness of this party that I infected myself to the detriment of labour and the triumph of the law.

“D. O’Hara Heegan is an able man, and inside of a week he’d spread the strike ’till it was the cleanest, dirtiest tie-up ever known. The hospitals and morgues was full of non-union men, but the river was empty all right. Yes, he had a persuadin’ method of arbitration quite convincing to the most calloused, involving the layin’ on of the lead pipe.

“Things got to be pretty fierce bye-and-bye, for they had the police buffaloed, and disturbances got plentyer than the casualties at a butchers’ picnic. The strikers got hungry, too, finally, because the principles of unionism is like a rash on your mechanic, skin deep–inside, his gastrics works three shifts a day even if his outsides is idle and steaming with Socialism.