"Sure, that followed you! You didn't think I took any stock in your batty coal talk, did you? You must think I'm green! All I wanted was you—you bit fast and easy enough—the rest of the softies came along then like a pack of sheep. What d'ye think now about me owing it all to the men, Mr. Morally Responsible, eh?"
It took McQueen a minute to get the whole of it—the bitter whole of it. Then the blood rushed to his face in a crimson flood. He reached out and grasping Noonan by neck and shoulders shook him as a terrier shakes a rat. "You cur!" he cried hoarsely, and flung the other suddenly away against the wall.
The men at the sound of the scuffle came running over.
"He's a scab! Kill him!" shrieked Noonan.
McQueen turned to face the men. "If beating this strike's a scab, I'm a scab," he said quietly. "I'm out to beat it right now! I've been a fool and I'm ready to admit it. But I didn't know until to-night that I'd been bait for a whining thing like that!" pointing at Noonan. "He says some of you men came in on the strike because I did. If that's so, then get out of it because I do. Get out of it before there's more on our hands than we'll be able to answer for when we go into Division for the last time. That's all I've got to say. I'm going over now to ask Carleton to put me on again, if it's nothing better than pulling a way freight. And—and I hope you'll come with me."
