"Because you won't go to work. I'll give every able-bodied man here
all the work he wants. Apply at the office of the Consolidated Water
Company--now."

"What's the work?" inquired a man in the crowd.

"Digging trenches for water-pipes. How many men want that work? Hold up
hands."

"It ain't work for human beings in this weather," snarled the man who
had inquired. No hands were raised.

"That's your style!" blazed the big man. The policemen had sauntered
into the square and their presence was reassuring. He stood up and began
to lecture them.

"And them's the kind of lord dukes that's running this country
to-day--own it and run it," growled a slouchy fellow who stood near the
tall young man. "They ain't willing to give a poor man a show."

"He has just offered you a show--all of you," stated the young man.

"Yes, a Guinea job for white men."

"You're picking a poor excuse for being a loafer, my friend."

"Who says I'm a loafer?"

The young man shot out his hands and grasped the fellow's elbow and
hand. The arm was flabby, the palm was soft. He doubled back the fingers