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Updated: May 4, 2025
"Now, what does this mean?" said Maitland savagely, then checking his rage, "but I ought to thank you for getting me out of the grip of that frantic idiot. What is this fool thing?" "It's nae that," said McNish shortly. "It is anything but that. But I grant ye this was no time to bring it on. That was beyond me. A doot yon puir cratur had a purpose in it, however.
"What is it, peace or war? Speak quick!" "A'm haudden these fules back fra the mill," answered McNish with a scowl. Then, dropping into his book English, he continued bitterly: "They have done enough to-night already. They have wrecked our cause for us!" "You are dead right, McNish," answered Maitland. "And what do they want here?"
With an effusiveness amounting to reverence he welcomed McNish and directed him in a mysterious whisper toward a seat on the platform, which, however, McNish declined, choosing a seat at the side about half way up the aisle. A local Union official was addressing the meeting but saying nothing in particular, and simply filling in till the main speaker should arrive.
The motion was carried by a majority of one, Brothers Wigglesworth, McNish and Maitland voting in the affirmative. "Traitors!" shrieked Brother Simmons. "Capitalistic traitors!" "Hoot mon! Ye're no in Hyde Park. Save yere breath for yere porritch the morn " said McNish, relaxing into a grim smile as he left the rooms. "We'll get 'im," said Simmons to his ally and friend.
"I shall get you some breakfast immediately," she answered in a calm, matter-of-fact voice. "You are done out. Your father has come in and has gone to lie down. McNish is in the library." "And Annette?" said Maitland. He was biting his lips to keep them from quivering. "Is she still " "She is resting. The maid is watching beside her.
"If a mistake has been made, it is mine. Good-night, Mrs. McNish. Good-night, Malcolm. I don't pretend to know or understand what is in your heart, but I am going to say to you as your minister that where there is evil passion there can be no clear thinking. And further, let me say that upon you will devolve a heavy responsibility for the guidance you give these men. Good-night again.
"Are you game?" "Wait a wee," said McNish, getting to his feet. Slowly he once more made his way to the platform. As the crowd caught on to his purpose they broke into cheering. When he reached the side of the speaker he spoke a word in his ear, then came to the front with his hand held up. There was instant quiet. He looked coolly over the excited, disintegrating audience for a moment or two.
Howard E. Bigelow, a representative of the American Federation of Labour, whom as a member of the Woodworkers' Union, Local 197, I am anxious to hear if you don't mind." He bowed to the visitor, bowed to the audience once more swaying under a tempest of cheers, and, followed by McNish, made his way to his seat. From the first moment of his speech Mr. Howard E. Bigelow had to fight for a hearing.
"I saw you dance with Annette with Miss Perrotte and I thought perhaps you might know where the Captain was." McNish stood glowering at him for a moment or two, then burst forth: "They are awa' he's ta'en her awa'." "Away," said Vic. "Where?" "To hell for all I ken or care." Then with a single stride McNish was close at his side, gripping his arm with fingers that seemed to reach the bone.
Nominated in the Democratic State convention in the fall of the preceding year, Lyman, backed by the coteries of San Francisco bosses in the pay of his father's political committee of ranchers, had been elected together with Darrell, the candidate of the Pueblo and Mojave road, and McNish, the avowed candidate of the Pacific and Southwestern.
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