I SEE by the papers that the government of the ‘Land of the free and home of the brave’ has made another law. It is that no contract be given for government work to any firm that compels its employes to work more than eight hours a day, an’ the government has turned down a shipbuildin’ firm’s bid on the two new battleships because the firm didn’t have the eight-hour law in force in its shipyard. Now, wouldn’t that jar you, when right here on this government job there’s five hundred men that work from twelve to sixteen hours a day an’ never get a cent of overtime pay, not even a ‘thank you’?

“Who are the twelve-and sixteen-hour men? We are. I’m one of ’em. Am I a steam-shovel man? No; not on your life. If I was I’d be curlin’ my mustache an’ polishin’ my finger-nails right now. But, instead of that, I’m hustlin’ into the mess hall to swallow a bite of cold grub before they shut the doors for the night. It’s now three hours after knockin’-off time. I’m a marine engineer, an’ I’ve seen as much of this terrestrial globe as any man of my age on this job, an’ I can say with conviction that this is the blamedest job for workin’ overtime that I ever struck, or ever expect to strike.

“You say that you thought we all worked eight hours down here. Not the floating equipment, no, m’am; but, say! a more intelligent or finer bunch of fellows never struck the Isthmus than they are. Why, some of ’em are veterans of the Spanish-American War. They done the work that got the glory for Dewey an’ that beauty Hobson, when the petted darlin’s of the Commission—the steam-shovel men, the shop guys and the like—were milkin’ cows an’ feedin’ hens down on the farm. But, wait, we’ll come in handy again some day, maybe right here, where we’re sweatin’ away from four to six hours a day for nothin’. Here in Balboa we ain’t got no more gumption than a bunch of dog-robbers. Why, in Cristobal, they have formed an association to fight for back pay for overtime since the Canal started, an’ for an eight-hour day.

“A committee of ten of ‘the boys’ waited upon a bunch of hayseeds that were down here lookin’ around an’ botherin’ the Colonel. ’Twas last fall an’ they stopped at the Tivoli. The Colonel attended the meetin’ himself, an’ showed the fellers that he was with them for a square deal. He’s always on deck when there’s need of justice, the Colonel is. Well, anyhow, old Uncle Joe was in the gang from the U. S. A., smilin’ from ear to ear an’ smokin’ a big cigar that made him look top heavy. He told ‘the boys’ that he was feelin’ fine; that he was gittin’ to be a bit overfed, an’ that he was just pinin’ to do something for the floating equipment of the Canal Commission; but when a couple of ‘the boys’ told him that they had nearly $9,000 for back pay comin’ to ’em his face froze, the cigar fell from his lips an’ he looked as if he was goin’ to drop dead. I was there lookin’ on an’ takin’ it all in.

“I attended the association supper at Cristobal after that, an’, say! it was some feast. It looked more like a meetin’ of the floating equipment of the New York Yacht Club than it did of the overworked and underpaid live ones of the Isthmian Canal Commission. Every man was dressed to kill in correct evening togs except me, but, of course, I didn’t count, bein’ from Balboa, an’ not bein’ a member, nohow. Anyway, I enjoyed myself an’ drunk it all in. Did I get drunk? Yes, I think I did get drunk. A saint would have got drunk there. The first sight that met the eye on entering the hall was—what do you think? Twelve barrels of beer all packed in ice an’ ready to quench thirst. There was all kinds of whiskies and wines, and even champagne.

“How did they get away to get to the supper? Oh, they just struck. ‘Where are you fellers goin’ to?’ said the boss that night, when the last of the gang was walkin’ off the dock to go home an’ dress. ‘We are goin’ to get drunk,’ spoke up old Cap. Bartin, who isn’t so old, but is as sassy as they make ’em. ‘Get drunk?’ said the boss, in amazement; ‘well, you’ve got your nerve with you.’ ‘You bet,’ replied the Captin; ‘if I didn’t have considerable nerve I wouldn’t have been able to keep up an’ work all of this overtime. Me an’ the boys,’ said he, ‘need to wet our whistles this blessed Sunday night, after workin’ from twelve to eighteen hours a day for the past week.’ ‘You can’t get off now,’ said the boss, ‘because there’s that derelict out there that’s got to be attended to.’ ‘I ain’t responsible for the derelict,’ retorted the Captain; ‘why don’t you get your launch an’ go out an’ hang a dinner bell on it, or else get a couple of niggers to rig up a jury mast for it? The boys an’ me have an important engagement,’ an’ he winked at his friends in a foxy way. ‘I’m through with the briny deep until Monday mornin’.’ ‘You’ll lose your job for this,’ said the boss, tryin’ to keep a straight face. ‘Hurrah!’ said Captin Bartin, ‘back to the Bowery for mine. There’s a few boats sailin’ in and out around old Liberty. Do you know where Liberty is? We have almost forgot, we get so little of it in this outfit.’ After dancin’ a few steps of the ‘Sailors’ Hornpipe’ he marches off the dock, followed by the fellows, all of them singin’, ‘We Won’t Go Home Till Mornin’.’

“Just after the boys had gone, a time inspector hove into sight an’ the boss said to him, in that dry way of his, ‘There ain’t nothin’ for you to do to-night. The bunch has quit, an’ I don’t blame ’em. They’re havin’ a banquet.’ ‘You don’t say,’ said the inspector. ‘Sure,’ said the boss, ‘an’ ’tis kind of tough on me. I’ve got to go out to that derelict an’ hang a scarecrow on it to keep the mosquitoes from breedin’ in it. I’m blamed if I know what else to do with the darned thing.’ ‘Nor I,’ says the time inspector. ‘I been on a farm in Connecticut all my life, an’ it makes me sicker’n a dog to go out in that launch to take the men’s time. This ain’t no job for me, nohow. I’ guess I’ll write to Ma an’ tell her to see our Congressman, an’ tell him to have me transferred to some inland place out of sight an’ smell of this blamed old ocean.’ ‘Yes,’ said the boss, dryly, ‘you’re too good a farmer to be fussin’ about this dock. Suppose,’ he went on, ‘we go over to Buildin’ Number One an’ watch the boys gittin’ drunk.’ ‘I’m on,’ said the inspector, without hesitancy. ‘You may,’ said he, ‘meet one of ’em that’s half soused an’ good-natured, that ’ud go out in the launch with you an’ show you what to do with that machine you have jest been talkin’ about.’ ‘Well, say, you are a farmer from Jones’s woods,’ replied the boss, laughin’, an’ walkin’ off the dock.

“Well, sir, I walked off that dock and follered ’em, for I had been there takin’ it all in. When we got to that hall, say! of all the fun and good fellowship! There was Captin Bartin dancin’ the Highlan’ Fling to the tune of ‘Lass of Killiecrankie.’ Every one was feelin’ good, an’ I was welcomed as heartily as the boss an’ the inspector, though they didn’t know any of us from Adam, they were so drunk. But, anyhow, I soon felt at home, an’ it seemed as if I had known the bunch all my life. The place was decorated with palms an’ plants an’ flags, an’ the supper tables showed up fine, with cut glass an’ silver from Major Falstaff’s own house an’ the houses of the married members, for the committee said they wouldn’t stand for three-pronged forks an’ black-handled knives from the I. C. C. mess hall (they call it an hotel over there), not at that spread.

“Well, I met an old friend, an’ he pointed out the different ones that were the leaders. A merry-lookin’ little devil got up to make a speech, an’, say! he sure could talk. Bryan, as an orator, couldn’t hold a candle to him. ‘Who’s the orator?’ I asked. ‘He’s one of the fleet,’ said my friend. ‘He’s German, but an American citizen.’ ‘He’s away up on English,’ said I. ‘Yes,’ said he. ‘Shorty is a bright fellow, a graduate of Heidelberg, an’ his brother is a professor there right now.’ ‘Why,’ I spoke up, ‘this is not only a dredgin’ outfit you have here, but ’tis a floatin’ university as well.’ He was tickled to death at this, an’ said, ‘We fellows ain’t nobody’s fools over here. Do you see that good-lookin’, inoffensive-appearin’ chap over there?’ he asked, pointin’ toward a youngster that sure did look inoffensive. ‘Yes,’ I says, ‘who is he?’ ‘He’s the real thing in the manly art of boxin’,’ was the reply. ‘He could lick any man in this hall to-night. The boys call him the Prince.’ ‘He looks like a kid,’ I says. ‘We call him that, too,’ said he. ‘The feller he’s talkin’ to is a Danish nobleman, with an Eyetalian name; he was once an officer in the Danish Navy.’ ‘By gum!’ said I, ‘we guys at Balboa never’ll get in on this association. We ain’t grand enough.’

“At this point the voice of the orator rang out loud and clear. ‘You men of the floatin’ equipment are just as important to the great work of buildin’ this Canal as those whose professions are of a higher order an’ whose education is of the higher criticism. English, German, Danish and Scotch by descent, your veins reek with the wholesome blood of the Viking.’ Then Captin Barton yelled, ‘Come along, all ye Irish that ain’t in on that Viking blood, an’ we’ll hit up the whiskey.’ Then there were cheers, an’ maybe we didn’t! Well, we ate an’ we drank, an’ told stories; some of ’em was true an’ some of ’em darned lies, but we all felt good an’ noble an’ brave, an’ along toward mornin’ an Eyetalian Prince came in to take the photograph of the bunch. I was in it, though I hadn’t ought to be, seein’ I belong in Balboa, where we ain’t got more gumption than a lot of dog-robbers, because we’re afraid of Tam O’Shanter, as canny a Scot as ever sailed out of Glasgow.

“I been told since that when the gang showed up on the dock Monday mornin’ to go to work the boss was fit to be tied. ‘Why didn’t you fellers show up yesterday?’ said he. There was no response, but all grinned kind of sheepish. ‘And you,’ he said to Captin Bartin, ‘you didn’t show up yesterday. Were you sick?’ The Captin took three steps to the right an’ three steps to the left, an’ broke down two or three steps of the ‘Sailors’ Hornpipe.’ Then he said in the boss’ ear, ‘I was drunk.’ ‘Drunk?’ said the boss, in amazement. ‘Well, say! you’ve an awful nerve. Give me your doctor’s certificate,’ he added, with a sigh. ‘Shure, you wouldn’t have me compound a felony like that, would you?’ said the Captin. Then the boss coughed kind of funny and said, ‘Get aboard an’ stop chewin’ the rag.’

“An’ me. I got back to Balboa half an hour too late to get on the job, and, thinks I, there’s other jobs in the universe, so I’m goin’ to take a day off an’ get some rest. An’ maybe I got the rest. Not on your life, for old Tam O’Shanter was on the job lookin’ me up. He gumshoed up to my room, an’ hearin’ me snorin’, yelled out, ‘Hoot, mon, get ye up and pit on yer cloes an’ come down on the job the noo.’ I was savage. ‘To h—l with the job,’ I says, ‘I’m sick.’ ‘Dinna ye fash wid yer clatter, or I’ll pit me fist in yer eye,’ says he. Well, I got up an’ dressed an’ went on the dredge, an’ I’m on it yet. Tam O’Shanter likes me about as well as the devil likes holy water, but I don’t care a rap for that old kilt, for he’s one Scot with a yellow streak runnin’ right through him from the top of his head to the top of his toes. He says there ain’t talent enough in the U. S. A. to hold down his job, an’ that’s why he got it. It must be so; he ain’t got no citizenship papers; if he has, they ain’t bona fidy. See! Well, I’ll have to be gittin back to the dock, or he’ll be around peepin’ an’ reportin’ that I have an affinity. So long, lady; I’m glad to have met you. The boys here in Balboa are all right, only they’re a little short on gumption, that’s all.”