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"It puts you right back with Herbert Spencer! If there are more men than there are jobs, then the men have to fight for them. And so you have the struggle for existence, and the survival of the greedy and the selfish. If Finnegan wouldn't be a barkeeper, then he and his family would starve, and somebody else would survive who was willing to be that bad." The boy waited. "Don't you see that, Dr.
"And what do you think," went on the other, "He heard old Henry Hickman talking he says you fellows held him up on that water bill." "Go on!" said Callahan. "Did he say that?" "He did," said Finnegan, without giving Samuel a chance to reply. "Well," said the other, "he's a damned liar, and he knows it. It was a dead straight proposition, and we hadn't a thing to do with it.
Some of the rarest gems of the profession worked in "G" office at this time George Clarke, "Cy" Clamphitt, "Jack" Graham, Will Church, John McNeill, Paul Finnegan alias the "Count," and a score or more of men, as good as ever touched a key or balanced a quad. A day's work was from eight A. M., until five P. M., and for all over time we were paid extra at the rate of forty cents per hour.
Finnegan, who lodged in the flat below, slopping warm suds over the thin marble steps, added a final note of homeliness, which divorced Claire completely from heroics. "Well, Miss Robson, so you really got home, last night," broke from the industrious neighbor as she straightened up and tucked her lifted skirts in more securely.
In the end she convinced herself of their existence and she was quite sure that Mrs. Finnegan shared equally in the delights of her fancy. Meanwhile November passed, and the first weeks of December crowded the old year to its death.
The chief master-at-arms, bareheaded, climbed into the conning-tower. "Captain Blake, what'll we do with Finnegan?" he said. "I've released him from the brig as you ordered; but Mr. Clarkson won't have him in the turret where he belongs, and no one else wants him around. They even chased him out of the bunkers. He wants to work and fight, but Mr.
Finnegan is found, on the morning when her case against Finnegan is to come up in the domestic relations court, busily washing and ironing his other shirt in order that he may make a proper appearance and not disgrace the family before the judge.
He waited until his friend had attended to the wants of a customer, and until the customer had consumed a glass of beer and departed. Then he called the bartender into a corner. "Mr. Finnegan," he said, "I want to know something very important." "What is it?" asked the other. "Do you know Mr. Hickman Henry Hickman, the lawyer?" "He's not on my calling list," said Finnegan. "I know him by sight."
Then he got a lot of money out of one of his jobs some say it was a bank robbery and some say they killed a miner who was drunk with a big roll on him. Anyhow, Freddie got next to Finnegan he's worth several millions that he made out of policy shops and poolrooms, and contracts and such political things. So he's in right and he's got the brains.
The men rose in sullen wrath and went down the levee, the crowd gathering in numbers as it passed along. Mr. Baptiste followed in its wake, now and then sighing a mournful protest which was lost in the roar of the men. "Scabs!" Finnegan had said; and the word was passed along, until it seemed that the half of the second District knew and had risen to investigate.
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