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Updated: October 20, 2025
Then he lost his job, or something, for another boy drove the wagon. And we'd never even spoken to each other. "Then there was a bookkeeper when I was sixteen. I seem to run to bookkeepers. It was a bookkeeper at the laundry that Charley Long beat up. This other one was when I was working in Hickmeyer's Cannery. He had soft hands, too. But I quickly got all I wanted of him.
"Would you be willing to enter into a contract with me to keep the cannery supplied with fish?" he asked, watching her closely. For the first time he saw her show signs of receding from her original position. Dickie Lang hesitated. Her fear of legal entanglements was hereditary.
Bandrist shot a quick glance at Gregory as the girl mentioned the cannery owner's name. At the girl's reference to her part in the affair his eyes lighted with interest. Then the frown came again to his face. "That is the trouble," he said quickly. "My men do not understand. They know only one way to fight. That is to win.
When her hands were not hard from the endless housework, they were swollen and red like boiled beef, what of the washing. And there was his sister Marian. She had worked in the cannery the preceding summer, and her slim, pretty hands were all scarred with the tomato-knives. Besides, the tips of two of her fingers had been left in the cutting machine at the paper-box factory the preceding winter.
A few days later came a repeat order from No. 1 Camp, then a request from the Cannery, which I was able to fill only in part, as many things required by them had not been included in the original orders given to the Vancouver wholesalers. I was beginning to wonder where Camp No. 2 was getting its supplies from, when, one day, about two weeks after my opening, they showed up.
"Dump them in." Rock stood by for a moment watching the fish slide into the vat. Then he walked away in the direction of the cannery office. Passing through the room where he had conferred with the Slavonian, he entered the manager's private sanctuary which lay beyond and closed the door. In the far corner of the room was a small clothes-closet.
"What do you expect me to do with a bunch of cripples like that?" Jack McCoy burst into the office of the Legonia Fish Cannery and hurled the question angrily at his young employer. Gregory looked hard at McCoy's flushed face and snapping gray eyes. Then he said quietly: "I expect you to train them." "My God!" McCoy came a step closer.
In the meantime if you want to go to work cleaning up the house, you can start any time you're ready. What do you say?" "I'll say you've hired a man. My name's Barnes." Gregory extended his hand. "And mine is Gregory. When do you want to go to work?" "Right away." Together the two men went out into the fish-laden atmosphere of the cannery.
Mascola's boats gave no heed to the signal save to draw closer together and slacken speed as they entered the narrow channel. Again the cannery boats shrieked a warning and the wedge narrowed with the waterway until only the bare width of a boat separated the beams of the defending vessels. Dead ahead, and only a few boat-lengths away, twinkled the lights of the alien fleet.
Barbara would have seen all these arrangements while I was getting ready for my first glance, but I prompted her nervously with a low-toned, "All set, girl," and then as she still didn't speak, "Bill's got every door guarded." She nodded. The length of the room away, in the end gallery, was the cannery girl queen and her guard.
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