"There was the teamsters' strike, right here in San Francisco," Bertie went on imperturbably.
You precipitated the big closed-shop strike. Farburg betrayed that strike.
You know, and you know that I know just what jobbery was done in the building trades' strike last fall, who put up the money, who did the work, and who profited by it." (Brentwood flushed darkly.) "But we are all tarred with the same brush, and the best thing for us to do is to leave morality out of it.
"It's a great stroke, this general strike," he said, as we bowled along through the crowded but orderly streets.
Everything was tied up by the strike. All grocery stocks had been bought out by the upper classes.
The working class did not come uptown any more to see how we were taking the strike. And there were not so many automobiles running around.
He had hoped, at first, to recover most of the horses after the strike was over, but in the end he never recovered one of them.
"We have maintained an orderly strike," it ran; "and we shall maintain order to the end.
As for myself, I was convinced that the end of the general strike was near, and I was resolved to return to San Francisco.
And that was the end of the general strike. I never want to see another one.
How many strikes have you won by starving labour into submission?
Such were the stockyards during the strike; while the unions watched in sullen despair, and the country clamored like a greedy child for its food, and the packers went grimly on their way.
"I don't even know where he is--he's run away to dodge the strike."