wder and
old nails flung into their rooms, with lighted fuses, where they were
sleeping with their families; they call that 'bottling a man;' it's a
familiar phrase. I've seen three cripples crawling about that have been
set on by numbers and spoiled for life, and as many fired at in the
dark; one has got a slug in his head to this day. And, with all that,
the greatest cowards in the world--daren't face a man in daylight, any
two of them; but I've seen the woman they knocked down with their fists,
and her daughter too, a mere child at the time. No, the cutlers are men,
but the brickmakers are beasts."

"All the more reason for avoiding silly quarrels with the brickmakers,"
said Little.

Thus snubbed, Mr. Bolt retired, muttering something about "bad to beat."
He found Harris crying over the ashes of his mare, and the man refused
to wheel any more machine-made bricks. Other carters, being applied to,
refused also. They had received written warning, and dared not wheel one
of those bricks for their lives.

The invincible Bolt bought a cart and a horse, hired two strangers,
armed them and himself with revolvers, and carted the bricks himself.
Five brickmakers waylaid him in a narrow lane; he took out his revolver,
and told them he'd send them all to hell if one laid a finger on him; at
this rude observation they fled like sheep.

The invincible carted his bricks by day, and at night rode the horse
away to an obscure inn, and slept beside him, armed to the teeth.

The result of all which was that one day he burst into Little's studio
shouting "Victory!" and told him two hundred thousand bricks were on
the premises, and twenty bricklayers would be at work on the foundations
that afternoon.

Henry Little was much pleased at that, and when Bolt told him how he had
carted the bricks in person, said, "You are the man for me; you really
are bad to beat."

While they were congratulating each other on this hard-earned victory,
Mr. Bayne entered softly, and said, "Mr. White--to speak to Mr. Bolt."

"That is the builder," said Bolt. "Show him up."

Mr. White came in with a long face.

"Bad news, gentlemen; the Machine Brickmaking Company retires from
business, driven out of trade by their repeated losses from violence."

"All the worse for the nation," said Bolt; "houses are a fancy
article--got to be. But it doesn't matter to us. We have got bricks
enough to go on with."

"Plenty, sir; but that is not where the shoe pi