So he spoke to four Italians about
him, and the five surrounded the man.
"Hol' on dar, Boss Reade!" spoke up a negro. "Ef yo' carry dis matter too
far, den dere's gwine to be a strike on dis wohk. Jess ez dis gemman sez,
we ain't no slaves. Yo' try to stop all our pleasures ebenings, an' dar's
gwine be a strike---shuah!"
"You may strike right now, if you wish to," Tom retorted, facing the last
speaker. "Mr. Renshaw will be prepared to pay you off within hour. Any
other man in this camp who isn't content to get along without liquor and
gambling may as well strike at the same time. Mr. Renshaw, it's half-past
eight. At nine o'clock please be at the house ready to pay off any man who
isn't satisfied to live and work in a camp where neither drinking nor
gambling is allowed. Scipio, why haven't you started that fellow away from
here?"
"Too bigga crowd in front of us," replied the Italian gang-master,
shrugging his shoulders.
"Come on, Harry," Tom replied. "We'll see if we can't make a way through
the crowd." The two young engineers placed themselves at the head of the
squad, and succeeded quickly in opening up a passage through a crowd that
seemed to be at least half hostile.
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