Dan’s big hand found Jim’s arm just above the elbow, and crushed it until it hurt. “I got things out of it while I was at it,” he said. “I’d go up a pole, and I’d know that the boss and the owner of the timber and the president of the company didn’t have the guts to do what I was doing. It was me. I’d look down on ever’thing from up there. And ever’thing looked small, and the men were little, but I was up there. I was my own size. I got things out of it, all right.”

“They took all the profits from your work,” Jim said. “They got rich, an’ when you couldn’t go up any more, they kicked you out.”

“Yes,” said Dan, “they did that, all right. I guess I must be gettin’ pretty old, kid. I don’t give a damn if they did—I just don’t give a damn.”

“And who are your neighbors?” Mac asked quickly. “I’ll tell you who they are: Hunter, Gillray, Martin. Who holds your paper? Torgas Finance Company. Who owns Torgas Finance Company? Hunter, Gillray, Martin. Have they been squeezing you? You know God damn well they have. How long you going to last? Maybe one year; and then Torgas Finance takes your place. Is that straight? Now suppose you got a crop out with no labor charges; suppose you sold it on a rising market? Could you clear out your paper?”

Dr. Burton threw back his head and looked at the sky. “Mac,” he said. “Look at the physiological injustice, the injustice of tetanus, the injustice of syphilis, the gangster methods of amoebic dysentery—that’s my field.

“Revolution and communism will cure social injustice.”

“Yes, and disinfection and prophylaxis will prevent the others.”

“It’s different, though; men are doing one, and germs are doing the other.”

They were nearing the Anderson place. Jim asked, “What do we do now, Mac?”

“Well, we hold the funeral, and we start picketing. It’ll settle down now. They’ll run in scabs with trucks.”

“You still think we’ll get beat, Mac?”

“I don’t know. They got this valley organized. God, how they’ve got it organized. It’s not so hard to do when a few men control everything, land, courts, banks. They can cut off loans, and they can railroad a man to jail, and they can always bribe plenty.”

Mac edged him slowly away, for the men were beginning to move in, toward the shrill voice. “What you blaming us for?” he said. “We didn’t do it. It was those nice neighbors of yours.”

“Yes, but it wouldn’t of happened if we didn’t get mixed up with you.”

Mac turned angrily on him. “Listen, mister, we know you got a sock in the teeth; little guys like you and me get it all the time. We’re tryin’ to make it so guys like you won’t get it.”

“That wagon cost eighteen hundred dollars. Why, man, I can’t go in town without the kids throw rocks at me. You ruined us, that’s what you did.”

Mac asked, “How’s Al feel about it?”

“I think Al’s red as hell himself. Only people he’s sore at are the men that did it.”

Sam spat in the road. “I’ll tell you what I done. I was in ’Frisco on Bloody Thursday. I smacked a cop right off a horse. I was one of the guys that went in and got them night sticks from a carpenters’ shop that the cops was gettin’ made. Got one of ’em right now, for a souvenir.”

“Tha’s a damn lie. You ain’t no longshoreman; you’re a lousy fruit tramp.”

“Sure I’m a fruit tramp. Know why? ’Cause I’m blacklisted with every shippin’ company in the whole damn country, that’s why.” He spoke with pride. A silence met his assertion. He went on, “I seen more trouble than you can-heat bindle-stiffs ever seen.” His contempt subjugated them. “Now keep your eyes down them rows, and cut out all this talk.” They marched along a while.

“They’ll just beat you up worse, Al. I’m tellin’ you straight. They’ll knock hell out of you.”

“Well, I won’t care then, because I’ll be fightin’ ’em, see? But there I was, just runnin’ a little lunch wagon, an’ givin’ bums a handout now an’ then——” His voice choked and tears squeezed out of his eyes.

Dr. Burton touched him gently on the cheek. “Don’t talk any more, Al.”

“I’ll see you get an application card,” Mac said. And he continued, “By God, it’s funny. Guy after guy gets knocked into our side by a cop’s night stick. Every time they maul hell out of a bunch of men, we get a flock of applications. Why, there’s a Red Squad cop in Los Angeles that sends us more members than a dozen of our organizers. An’ the damn fools haven’t got sense enough to realize it. O.K., Al. You’ll get your application. I don’t know whether it’ll go through, but it will if I can push it through.” He patted Al’s good arm. “I hope it goes through. You’re a good guy, Al. Don’t blame me for your wagon.”

Mac said harshly, “We can’t help it, Doc. He happens to be the one that’s sacrificed for the men. Somebody has to break if the whole bunch is going to get out of the slaughter-house. We can’t think about the hurts of one man. It’s necessary, Doc.”

“I wasn’t questioning your motives, nor your ends. I was just sorry for the poor old man. His self-respect is down. That’s a bitter thing to him, don’t you think so, Mac?”

“I can’t take time to think about the feelings of one man?” Mac said sharply. “I’m too busy with big bunches of men.”

“Yes,” said Mac. “That’s the trouble. It won’t do no good to show him. He looks so comfortable all the guys’ll want to get right in with him.” The doctor moved close and looked down at the coffin for a moment, and then he walked to a box and sat down. His big, plaintive eyes fastened on Mac’s face. Mac still stared at Joy. “He was such a good little guy,” he said. “He didn’t want nothing for himself. Y’see, he wasn’t very bright. But some way he got it into his head something was wrong. He didn’t see why food had to be dumped and left to rot when people were starving. Poor little fool, he could never understand that. And he got the notion he might help to stop it. I wonder how much he helped? It’s awful hard to say. Maybe not at all—maybe a lot. You can’t tell.” Mac’s voice had become unsteady. The doctor’s eyes stayed on his face, and the doctor’s mouth was smiling a curious half-sardonic, half-kindly smile.

Dr. Burton fell in beside Mac when he was clear of the bunched people. “You surely know how to work them, Mac,” he said quietly. “No preacher ever brought people to the mourners’ bench quicker. Why didn’t you keep it up awhile? You’d’ve had them talking in tongues and holy-rolling in a minute.”

Mac said irritably, “Quit sniping at me, Doc. I’ve got a job to do, and I’ve got to use every means to do it.”

“But where did you learn it, Mac?”

“Learn what?”

“All those tricks.”

Mac said tiredly, “Don’t try to see so much, Doc. I wanted them mad. Well, they’re mad. What do you care how it’s done?”

“I know how it’s done,” said Burton. “I just wondered how you learned. By the way, old Dan’s satisfied not to go. He decided when we lifted him.”