I nodded sympathetically, slid a cigar across the desk, and waited until it was burning in Soules’ mouth before I asked:
“You said something about having a couple new hands to break in. How come?”
“Yes. Mr. Newhouse fired two of our printers last week—Fincher and Key. He found that they belonged to the I. W. W., so he gave them their time.”
“Any trouble with them, or anything against them except that they were Wobblies?”
“No—they were pretty good workers.”
“Any trouble with them after he fired them?” I asked.
“No real trouble, though they were pretty hot. They made speeches all over the place before they left.”
“Remember what day that was?”
“Wednesday of last week, I think. Yes, Wednesday, because I hired two new men on Thursday.”
“How many men do you work?”
“Three, besides mysel
