Riordan looked at him, then turned back to the men.
"The management agreed to take back ten of the men who were laid off this week.
They also agreed to take back ten more men next month."
A strange silence came over the room. The men eyed each other nervously.
"But more than fifty of us were laid off," Tom said loudly. "What's ten men out of that many?"
"It's a start, Tom," he said. "You can't do it all at once."
"Why not?" Tom demanded hotly. "They laid us all off at once."
"That's different," Riordan said.
"The company has the right to lay off if business is bad."
"We know that. What we're sore about is the way they did it.
They paid no attention to the seniority they agreed to in the union agreement.
They laid off all the sixty-five-cent men and kept the fifty-five-centers."
"I know," Riordan said.
A harsh edge had come into his voice. "But their taking back ten men is a start.
It's better than having all fifty of ye out on the street." He turned back to the men. "Ten of you will go back to work. Maybe next month, ten more will go back.
That's better than nothing.
The company doesn't care if you go on strike.
They claim they'll save money by not running."
"I say we take it," one of the men shouted. "Ten of us workin' is better than none workin', like Riordan says."
"No," Tom said angrily, getting to his feet. "The company should take us all back. Each of us has as much right to work as the next one. If all us sixty-five-cent men would accept a cut to fifty-five cents, the company could keep us all on."
Riordan laughed hoarsely.
"You hear that, men?" he shouted.
"Would you like to take another pay cut?"
There was a murmur from the crowd. They shifted uneasily.
"I'd rather take a pay cut than have us all laid off," Tom said.
Riordan glared at him. There was no friendliness in his eyes now.
He had been angry ever since he got a call from the company personnel manager, advising him he'd better get down to the union hall.
The call had caught him at a very embarrassing time.
He got out of bed, cursing as he struggled into his clothing.
"What is it, honey?"
"Some jerky conductor has taken over the hall and is talking strike to the boys."
"But he can't do that," his paramour answered in a shocked voice. "You promised the company they'd have no trouble."
"They won't," he said harshly. "Nobody can make Riordan break his word!"
By the time he'd driven down to the union hall, he'd simmered down.
But now he was getting angry again. He had a hard enough job explaining to his wife where he was spending his Saturday nights, without having it loused up by a bunch of stupid trolley men.
He turned back to the crowd.
"I propose we settle this here and now," he shouted.
"You have a choice. Ten men go back to work or you strike."
"Wait a minute," Tom protested.
"The men already turned your proposal down," Riordan snapped. He raised his right hand. "All in favor of returning to work raise your right hand."
About ninety men raised their hands.
"Nays?"
There were only a few raised hands besides Tom's.
"The ayes have it.
Now you men go home to your wives.
I’ll let you know on Monday which of you go back to work."
Slowly the men began to file out of the room.
Tom looked at Riordan but the man didn't meet his eyes. Instead, he went back into his little glass cubbyhole and picked up the telephone.
Tom walked wearily toward the door.
Some of the men looked at him, then quickly hurried by, as if they were ashamed to meet his gaze.