"I suppose not," he admitted reluctantly. "But what other chance
they've got to win I don't see. Look at 'us. We'll be up against
it next."
"Not the teamsters?" she cried.
He nodded gloomily.
"The bosses are cuttin' loose all along the line for a high old
time. Say they're goin' to beat us to our knees till we come
crawlin' back a-beggin' for our jobs. They've bucked up real high
an' mighty what of all that killin' the other day. Havin' the
troops out is half the fight, along with havin' the preachers an'
the papers an' the public behind 'em. They're shootin' off their
mouths already about what they're goin' to do. They're sure
gunning for trouble. First, they're goin' to hang Chester Johnson
an' as many more of the fifteen as they can. They say that flat.
The Tribune, an' the Enquirer an' the Times keep sayin' it over
an over every day. They're all union-hustin' to beat the band. No
more closed shop. To hell with organized labor. Why, the dirty
little Intelligencer come out this morning an' said that every
union official in Oakland ought to be run outa town or stretched
up. Fine, eh? You bet it's fine.
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