246 THE FAT OF THE LAND 
a finger, or, by God! Tom Carkeek will kick the 
stuffin’ out en ’e!” 
This was enough to prevent any overt act, 
for Tom Carkeek was the champion wrestler in 
all that county ; he was fiercer than fire when 
roused, and he would be backed by every Cor- 
nishman on the job. 
Jack went on with his talk. “The ‘ Order 
of Thinkers’ claim that you men and all of your 
class spend one-third of your entire wages for 
whiskey and beer. There are exceptions, but 
the figures will hold good. I am going to call 
the amount of your wages spent in this way, one- 
fourth. The yearly pay-roll of this mine is, in 
round numbers, $200,000. Fifty thousand of this 
goes into the hands of those harpies, who grow 
rich as you grow poor. You are surprised at 
these figures, and yet they are too small. I 
counted the saloons over there, and I find there 
are eleven of them. Divide $50,000 into eleven 
parts, and you would give each saloon less than 
$5000 a year as a gross business. Not one of 
those places can run on the legitimate percen- 
tage of a business which does not amount to 
more than that. Do you suppose these men are 
here from charitable motives or for their health ? 
Not at all. They are here to make money, and 
they do it. Five or six hundred dollars is all 
they pay for the vile stuff for which they charge 
you $5000. They rob you of manhood and money 
alike. 
