"Mr. Grandon," begins that gentleman, with a kind of bitter suavity, "may I inquire into the causes that have led to this very unwise disturbance among our working forces?"
"I think the men are better able to tell their own story. They made an abrupt demand of me that Mr. Rising must be dismissed or they would go. Our agreement was for a month's trial, and the month is not ended. I stand by my men."
Grandon's voice is slow and undisturbed by any heat of passion.
"But you do not know, perhaps. They were unjustly accused."
"Unjustly?"
That one word in the peculiar tone it is uttered checks Wilmarth curiously.
"Mr. Grandon," and he takes a few quick steps up and down the room, "do you assume that I have no rights, that you have all the power, judgment, and knowledge requisite for a large establishment like this, when it is quite foreign to any previous experience of yours? Is no one to be allowed a word of counsel or advice? or even to know what schemes or plans are going on?"
"Mr. Wilmarth, all that was settled at Mr. Sherburne's office. It was decided that, being the executor and trusted agent of my father, and also the husband of Miss St. Vincent, gave me the controlling voice, and you consented to the month's trial."
"And am I to stand idly by and let you drive the thing to ruin? discharge workmen, break contracts, shut up the place, and have no voice in the matter?"
"You had a voice then!"