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Out on Strike

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Review and Herald Publishing Association · Washington, D.C. · May 19, 1904

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 81, No. 20.

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“Out on Strike”

THE Albany Argus tells a story of the walking delegate who was never tired of talking about the strike. He held that it was justifiable if ever a strike was, and he was prepared to demonstrate that it was perfectly proper to strike to secure a desired result. He told his wife so, and she appeared to agree with him. She said it seemed the easiest way.
That night when he came home, he found that the table was not set.
“I want a new dress,” she said, when he asked what the trouble was.
“I know you’ve been bothering me for that dress for a month,” he said, “but how about supper?”
“There isn’t any,” she replied. “This is a strike.”
“A strike?”
“Yes, I’ve been trying to secure a peaceable settlement of this trouble for some time; now I’ve struck.”
“Do you dare—”
“O, don’t talk to me that way! If I can’t get you to arbitrate, why, I’ve got to strike.”
“But, Mary, you don’t understand.”
“O, yes, I do. I’ve made my demands, and they’ve been refused. I’ve asked for arbitration with a view to a compromise, and that has also been refused. A strike is all there is left, and I’ve struck.”
“But your demands are unreasonable.”
“I don’t think they are.”
“You’re no judge.”
“You’re the judge of your own demands when you strike, and I’m as good a judge as you are when I want something. It’s no use talking. The strike is on.”
She folded her arms in a determined way, and he subsided. It was perhaps half an hour later when he looked up and said: “Well, what are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing,” she replied. “The strike is on.”
“Aren’t you hungry?”
“No. I saw that there was something in the treasury before the strike was ordered.”
“Meaning the pantry?” he remarked.
“Meaning the pantry,” she repeated.
“I believe I’ll get a little,” he said.
“It’s locked,” she answered. “The reserve is to be used to keep the strike going. You can’t touch the striker’s resources.”
“Be careful, Mary!” he said, warningly.
“If I cut off the cash ——” She nodded toward the locked pantry.
“I can stick it out a week,” she returned.
Five or ten minutes later he proposed that they compromise on the basis of ten dollars.
“Twenty,” she replied, firmly.
“But I can’t afford it,” he protested.
“That’s your business,” she answered. “I offered to arbitrate once.”
It was ten o’clock that night when he finally gave in, and somehow he felt he had experienced a new phase of the strike business. It looked different from the other side of the fence.—Selected.