"I came to ask you if there were any prospects of trouble at the works," said the latter presently. He spoke jerkily, and in a note far removed from the deep boom of his usual voice.
"Why should you expect any trouble because pay day is postponed for a week?"
Manson lifted his heavy lids. "Is it only for a week?"
Clark got up and paced the terrace, his head thrust forward, his hands behind his back. There was that in the visitor's manner which puzzled him. The evident agitation and discomfort, the anxious moving of the thick arms, the constant shifting of the feet, all pointed to something that struck deeper than the possibility of a riot. And Manson, he had reason to know, was no coward.
"I anticipate that it will be less than a week. How many men have you?"
"Thirty, and myself."
"We have twenty guards at the works, also, if need be, there's the local militia."
"Have you ever seen them?" said the chief constable contemptuously.
"No, but the law is behind them and a certain amount of discipline," then, his voice changing abruptly, "Mr. Manson, are you afraid?"
The big man stared at him as though fascinated. His dark face began to work convulsively in an obvious attempt to voice that which disturbed him. Clark watched it all.