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Clubs and pick-handles were swinging, revolvers were exploding, and cobblestones were flung with crushing effect at arm's distance. Saxon saw young Frank Davis, a friend of Bert's and a father of several months' standing, press the muzzle of his revolver against a scab's stomach and fire. There were curses and snarls of rage, wild cries of terror and pain. Mercedes was right.
"Only bumped a bit," Roy panted, still out of breath. "I spec' it startled you. I'm sorry." The bareheaded one laughed. "You startled the Scab's minions a jolly sight more. Cleared the course! And a rare good riddance eh, Chandranath?" To that friendly appeal the Indian boy vouchsafed a muttered assent.
"March up and down in front of a factory and try to keep scabs out." "What are scabs?" asked ignorant Myra. Rhona was amazed. "You don't even know that? Why, a scab's a girl who tries to take a striker's job and so ruin the strike. She takes the bread out of our mouths." "But how can you stop her?" "Talk to her! We're not allowed to use violence." "How do you do it?"
Why, I couldn't no more help reaching my fist to the point of a scab's jaw than could Possum from snappin' at you. They's no explainin' it. What a man has to he has to. The fact that he does a thing shows he had to do it whether he can explain it or not. You remember Hall couldn't explain why he stuck that stick between Timothy McManus's legs in the foot race. What a man has to, he has to.
"What for? I got a card, I'm tellin' you." "Put it down, that's all. No scab's going to handle that trunk. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you big coward, scabbing on honest men. Why don't you join the union and be a man?" Mary Condon's colour had left her face, and it was apparent that she was in a rage. "To think of a big man like you turning traitor to his class.
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