Sthrikes come in th' summer time an' lockouts in th' winter. In th'
summer whin th' soft breezes blows through shop an' facthry, fannin' th'
cheeks iv th' artisan an' settin' fire to his whiskers, whin th' main
guy is off at th' seashore bein' pinched f'r exceedin' th' speed limit,
whin 'tis comfortable to sleep out at nights an' th' Sox have started a
batting sthreak, th' son iv Marthy, as me frind Roodyard Kipling calls
him, begins to think iv th' rights iv labor.
"Th' more he looks out iv th' window, th' more he thinks about his
rights, an' wan warm day he heaves a couplin' pin at th' boss an'
saunters away. Sthrikes are a great evil f'r th' wurrukin' man, but so
are picnics an' he acts th' same at both. There's th' same not gettin'
up till ye want to, th' same meetin' ye'er frinds f'r th' first time in
their good clothes an' th' same thumpin' sthrangers over th' head with a
brick. Afther awhile th' main guy comes home fr'm th' seaside, raises
wages twinty per cent, fires th' boss an' takes in th' walkin' dillygate
as a specyal partner.
"But in winter, what Hogan calls another flower iv our industhreel
system blooms. In th' winter it's warmer in th' foundhry thin in th'
home. There is no hearth as ample in anny man's home as th' hearth th'
Steel Comp'ny does its cookin' by.
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