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Updated: May 25, 2025
Nothing more was said, and the way to the great molding-room was traversed silently. Shipley sent out orders, and in a few minutes the men congregated to hear what the boss had to say. It was, to say the least, an unusual proceeding, this of an employer delivering a speech to his men after they had practically declared a strike.
"If he joins the union he'll be permitted to continue the perfecting of his invention?" "His invention is not necessary at present. The output as it is meets the demand." "Look here, Mr. Morrissy, I'll make you a proposition." "What?" "You and I will go down to the molding-room and have it out with our fists. If you win, Chittenden goes; if I win, he stays and the men return to work."
"That is for me to judge." "Ten minutes to make up your mind." Morrissy made a gesture toward his watch. "Don't bother about the time, Mr. Morrissy. We'll spend the ten minutes in the molding-room." Morrissy turned pale. "Oh, we shan't come to fisticuffs, Mr. Morrissy. I am a gentleman, and you are not. Not a word!" as Morrissy clenched his fists. "Mr.
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