Argosy All-Story Weekly, January 13, 1923 — page 56: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Oe ee 518 into Pueblo Street. Certainly an unusual number of young men were hanging around Pelham’s barn, as Dick Lambert had warned him. _ By eleven o’clock Zeke Pelham’s estab- lishment resembled a rally of the A. EF. F. The ad in the Pioneer had not gone un- read. A. P. Horner should have been there ~ to see how many young men of Boulton and environs hated the idea of a steady job. Mr. Horner was present, however, only in voice, when he phoned to Stephen Brown to say that after their little talk he had considered the matter of the carts from all angles, and was now ready to discuss terms at Stephen’s convenience. When could they close the deal? “T’ll see you when I can,” Steve told him. Since there was not room in the stable to hold the convention, the crowd trailed S. Brown, job finder, to the lot in the rear, and took roost on A. P. Horner’s valued wagons. Dick Lambert, on hand to repre- sent the press, counted thirty-four men, but Town Marshal Hummel testified afterward that the mob exceeded one hundred. Without oratory, S. Brown began. ““How much,” he asked, “is your time worth?” Instant, noisy and morose were the re- sponses. “Tt seems unanimous,” he went on. “ All tight. Suppose I gamble a month of miy time and labor against the chance of pulling down four dollars a-day for the month—lI stand to lose nothing but a few pints of per- Spiration, don’t I?” ““ Sweat, Steve, sweat,” some one cor- rected, and in turn was harshly corrected by the crowd. It was argued that if good old Top-Sarge Steve Brown desired to per- spire, then he should be allowed to perspire freely, untrammeled by carping purists. “Tf the scheme pans out well,” he re- sumed, “I'll be ahead four bucks a day. If it fails, I'l] at least have three square meals a day for the month. The meals are guaranteed.” The cheering was heard as far away as the town hall. Information was requested as to when the bugle would begin to render soupy-soupy. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. “ To-night,” Steve answered. He sketched the layout for them. Thirty miles away in the hills was a body of val- uable ore. He had mules and carts. Pro- vided he could make arrangements with the smelter people, he would need twenty team- sters, four rock drillers, two blacksmiths and as many cooks, and a dozen odd-jobs men. With this force he planned to deliver six tons of ore daily at the smelter until snow should fly. Before the hauling could begin, and while the rock men were starting the drilling and blasting, the rest of the outfit would become road menders. The enterprise would have to finance it- self. There might be no pay until the end of the summer. The first month would de- termine whether there would be any pay at all. Half of all the ore in excess of eight hundred and sixty-four tons carted out in the course of the season would go to the workers as a bonus. And shoes, over- alls, and plug tobacco would be supplied at cost. “Yes,” shouted a big roughneck named Howfer, from the Midvale section, “ but what do you get out of it?” “Four a day and found, same as the rest.” “Four for me,” Howfer groaned; “ six hundred for the greasy capitalist that owns the mine.” “Out of his six hundred,” Steve argued, “he pays one hundred and fifty a day in wages; he pays for the chow you eat; he pays for the carts, the mules, the machinery, the upkeep of the outfit, and the cost of smelting. On a bad day his income stops and his outgo romps right along. He will call it a good season if he breaks even.” “Then,” Howfer demanded, “ what’s he doing it for?” At this juncture Zeke Pelham sauntered over from the stable with an urgent tele- phone message from Samuel Schwartz, the unhappy smelter man. “Oh, Steve,” called Mr. Pelham; “ they want you at the bank.” “Yah!” yelled Howfer. ‘ They want him at the bank. I knew there was a greasy banker in this somewhere.”’ The others were so intent upon howling CORICLOO© S (C@)