“‘That’ll do,’ says the Judge.  ’Mr. Clerk, ten dollars and costs—­charge, drunk and disorderly.  Next!’

“‘Hold on there,’ says I, ignorant of the involutions of justice, ’I guess I’ve got the bulge on you this time.  They beat you to me, Judge.  I ain’t got a cent.  You can go through me and be welcome to half you find.  I’ll mail you ten when I get home though, honest.’

“At that the audience giggled, and the Judge says:—­

“’Your humour doesn’t appeal to me, Billings.  Of course, you have the privilege of working it out.’  Oh, Glory, the ‘Privilege!’

“Heegan nodded at this, and I realized what I was against.

“‘Your honour,’ says I with sarcastic refinements, ’science tells us that a perfect vacuum ain’t possible, but after watching you I know better, and for you, Mr. Workingman’s Friend,—­us to the floor,’ and I run at Heegan.

“Pshaw!  I never got started, nor I didn’t rightfully come to till I rested in the workhouse, which last figger of speech is a pure and beautiful paradox.

“I ain’t dwellin’ with glee on the next twenty-six days—­ten dollars and costs, at four bits a day, but I left there saturated with such hatreds for Heegan that my breath smelted of ’em.

“I wanders down the river front, hoping the fortunes of war would deliver him to me dead or alive, when the thought hit me that I’d need money.  It was bound to take another ten and costs shortly after we met, and probably more, if I paid for what I got, for I figgered on distendin’ myself with satisfaction and his features with uppercuts.  Then I see a sign, ‘Non-Union men wanted—­Big wages.’  In I goes, and strains my langwidge through a wire net at the cashier.

“‘I want them big wages,’ says I.

“‘What can you do?’

“‘Anything to get the money,’ says I.  ’What does it take to liquidate an assault on a labour leader?’

“There was a white-haired man in the cage who began to sit up and take notice.

“‘What’s your trouble?’ says he, and I told him.

“‘If we had a few more like you, we’d bust the strike,’ says he, kind of sizin’ me up.  ‘I’ve got a notion to try it anyhow,’ and he smites the desk.  ’Collins what d’ye say if we tow the “Detroit” out?  Her crew has stayed with us so far, and they’ll stick now if we’ll say the word.  The unions are hungry and scrapping among themselves, and the men want to go back to work.  It’s just that devil of a Heegan that holds ’em.  If they see we’ve got a tug crew that’ll go, they’ll arbitrate, and we’ll kill the strike.’

“‘Yes, sir!’ says Collins, ‘but where’s the tug crew, Mr. Badrich?’

“’Right here!  We three, and Murphy, the bookkeeper.  Blast this idleness!  I want to fight.’

“‘I’ll take the same,’ says I, ‘when I get the price.’

“’That’s all right.  You’ve put the spirit into me, and I’ll see you through.  Can you run an engine?  Good!  I’ll take the wheel, and the others’ll fire.  It’s going to be risky work, though.  You won’t back out, eh?’”