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Updated: June 5, 2025
"You was hired," answered Lawlor softly, as he filled his glass to the brim with the old rye whisky, "to be a cook, and you're the rottenest hash-slinger that ever served cold dough for biscuits; a blasted, roarin' fool you've already made out of yourself by singin' that song. I want another one to get the sound of that out of my ears. Tune up!"
Them was the sort I learned to ride the range with." "I've heard something about a fight which you and John Bard had against the Piotto gang. Care to tell me anything of it?" Lawlor lolled easily back in his chair and balanced a second large drink between thumb and forefinger. "There ain't no harm in talk, son; sure I'll tell you about it. What d'you want to know?"
Lawlor rubbed his hands, like one coming from the cold outdoors to a warm fire. "I'm beginning to see light. Lemme at this Bard. I'm going to get enough fun out of this to keep me laughin' the rest of my life." "Good; but keep that laugh up your sleeve. If he asks questions you'll have some solemn things to say."
"William Drew!" he repeated, more to himself than to Lawlor, and the latter formed a silent prayer of gratitude that he was not William Drew. "I'm forgetting myself," went on the tenderfoot, with a ghost of a smile. "My name is Bard Anthony Bard." His glance narrowed again, and this time Lawlor, remembering his part, pretended to start with surprise. "Bard?" "Yes. Anthony Bard."
And big Jansen slowly, imperturbably, raised the cigarette and inhaled a mighty cloud of smoke which issued at once in a rushing, fine blue mist, impelled by a snort. "Maybe," he rumbled, completing his thought, "maybe you're one damn fool!" "I'm going to learn you who's boss in these parts," boomed Lawlor. "Put out that cigarette! Don't you know no better than to smoke at the table?"
"However," said Bard, "the story of this is interesting." "It is. There's some great stuff in it," mumbled Lawlor, trying to squint at the title, which he had quite overlooked during the daze in which he first picked it up. Bard laid the book aside and out of sight. "And I like the characters, don't you? Some very close work done with them." "Yep, there's a lot of narrow escapes." "Exactly.
His gun, held at the hip, pointed straight down the table to the burly form of Jansen, but his eyes, like those of a pugilist, seemed to be taking in every face at the table, and each man felt in some subtle manner that the danger would fall first on him. They did not answer, but hands were tightening around revolver butts. Lawlor moved back, pace by pace, his revolver shaking in his hand.
But with the stage set and the curtain ready to rise on the farce, the audience did not arrive until the shadow of the evening blotted the windows of the office where big Lawlor waited impatiently, rehearsing his part; but when the lamp had been lighted, as though that were a signal for which the tenderfoot had waited, came a knock at the door of the room, and then it was jerked open and the head of one of the cowpunchers was inserted.
They hear me call 'em what they are, but they don't even bat an eye. Yes, sir, I've tamed 'em. They took a lot of lickin', but now they're tamed. Hello!" For through the door stalked a newcomer. He paused and cast a curious eye up the table to Lawlor. "What the hell!" he remarked naively. "Where's the chief?" "Fired!" bellowed Lawlor without a moment of hesitation.
The publicity given to the case and to the methods of the meat packers assisted in the passage of legislation requiring government inspection of meats. An unexpected phase of the Sherman act appeared in 1908, in the case Loewe v. Lawlor. The American Federation of Labor, acting through its official organ, had declared a boycott against D.E. Loewe, a hat manufacturer of Danbury, Connecticut.
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