I'm out of the service now."
"What can you do?"
Quin looked at him quizzically. "I can receive and obey the orders of the
commanding officer," he said.
Mr. Bangs, being humor-proof, evidently considered this impertinent, and
repeated his question sharply.
"Oh, I'll do anything," said Quin rashly. "Soldiers can't be choosers
these days."
Mr. Bangs cast a critical eye on his strong, well built frame:
"We might use you in the factory," he said indifferently; "we need all
the strike-breakers we can get."
Quin's face fell. "I don't know about that," he said slowly. "I haven't
made up my mind yet about this union business."
"I thought you were helping the union men in the yard just now."
"I was helping that little Irishman that was getting the life choked out
of him."
Mr. Bangs's mouth became a hard, straight line.
"Then I take it you sympathize with the strikers?"
"I don't know whether I do or not," Quin declared stoutly. "I don't know
anything about it. But one thing's certain--I'm not going to take another
fellow's job, when he's holding out for better conditions, until I know
whether those better conditions are due him or not.
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