“Oh?  Well, maybe he doesn’t know anything about it, thin!” Mrs. Cudahy agreed with magnificent contempt.

But her scorn was wasted upon another Irishwoman.  Susan stared at her for a moment, then the dimples came into view, and she burst into her infectious laughter.

“Aren’t you ashamed to be so mean!” laughed Susan.  “Won’t you tell me about it?”

Mrs. Cudahy laughed too, a little out of countenance.

“I misdoubt me you’re a very bad lot!” said she, in high good humor, “but ’tis no joke for the boys,” she went on, sobering quickly.  “They wint on strike a week ago.  Mr. Oliver presided at a meeting two weeks come Friday night, and the next day the boys went out!”

“What for?” asked Susan.

“For pay, and for hours,” the older woman said.  “They want regular pay for overtime, wanst-and-a-half regular rates.  And they want the Chinymen to go,—­sure, they come in on every steamer,” said Mrs. Cudahy indignantly, “and they’ll work twelve hours for two bits!  Bether hours,” she went on, checking off the requirements on fat, square fingers, “overtime pay, no Chinymen, and—­and—­oh, yes, a risin’ scale of wages, if you know what that is?  And last, they want the union recognized!”

“Well, that’s not much!” Susan said generously.  “Will they get it?”

“The old man is taking his time,” Mrs. Cudahy’s lips shut in a worried line.  “There’s no reason they shouldn’t,” she resumed presently, “We’re the only open shop in this part of the world, now.  The big works has acknowledged the union, and there’s no reason why this wan shouldn’t!”

“And Billy, is he the one they talk to, the Carpenters I mean—­the authorities?” asked Susan.

“They wouldn’t touch Mr. William Oliver wid a ten-foot pole,” said Mrs. Cudahy proudly.  “Not they!  Half this fuss is because they want to get rid of him—­they want him out of the way, d’ye see?  No, he talks to the committee, and thin they meet with the committee.  My husband’s on it, and Lizzie’s Joe goes along to report what they do.”

“But Billy has a little preliminary conference in his room first?” Susan asked.

“He does,” the other assented, with a chuckle.  “He’ll tell thim what to say!  He’s as smart as old Carpenter himself!” said Mrs. Cudahy, “he’s prisidint of the local; Clem says he’d ought to be King!” And Susan was amazed to notice that the strong old mouth was trembling with emotion, and the fine old eyes dimmed with tears.  “The crowd av thim wud lay down their lives for him, so they would!” said Mrs. Cudahy.

“And—­and is there much suffering yet?” Susan asked a little timidly.  This cheery, sun-bathed scene was not quite her idea of a labor strike.

“Well, some’s always in debt and trouble annyway,” Mrs. Cudahy said, temperately, “and of course ’tis the worse for thim now!”

She led Susan across an unpaved, deeply rutted street, and opened a stairway door, next to a saloon entrance.