Gans," I sang out, with an affected Yankee twang. "There are
exceptions. And the cloak-and-suit industry is one of these
exceptions, especially now that the Cloak-makers' Union has
come to stay. By dealing with a very big firm you've got to pay for
union labor, while a modest fellow like myself has no trouble in
getting cheap labor. And when I say cheap I don't mean poor labor,
but just the opposite. I mean the very best tailors, the most skilled
mechanics in the country. It sounds queer, doesn't it? But it's a
fact, nevertheless, Mr. Gans. It is a fact that the best ladies' tailors
are old-fashioned, pious people, green in the country, who hate to
work in big places, and who keep away from Socialists,
anarchists, unionists, and their whole crew. They need very little,
and they love their work. They willingly stay in the shop from
early in the morning till late at night."
"They are dead stuck on it, hey?" Gans said, quizzically. "They are
used to it," I explained. "In Russia a tailor works about fourteen
hours a day.
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