Somebody got hold of these by-laws of this so-called labor union.

We've had copies made, an' every honest farmer in the Northwest is goin' to read them.

But carryin' one around is dangerous, I reckon, these days.

Here." Anderson hesitated a moment, peered cautiously around, and then, slipping folded sheets of paper from his inside coat pocket, he evidently made ready to hand them to Kurt.
"Lenore, where's the driver ?" he asked.
"He's under the car," replied the girl Kurt thrilled at the soft sound of her voice.

It was something to have been haunted by a girl's face for a year and then suddenly hear her voice.
"He's new to me--that driver--an' I ain't trustin' any new men these days," went on Anderson.