But the continued pressure of the long workdays began to call forth loud remonstrances from the workmen in the Denison factory. Martin, generally looked upon as being responsible for the improvement in the product, was, consequently, hated as being the indirect cause of that pressure.
"I'll be damned if I work a day longer for such beggarly wages!" cried a red-headed Irishman one day, bringing his fist down on the dye-tub with an angry look.
"I can't blame him; he's in the right of it!" answered a second workman.
"A twelve-hour day, and such hard work at that!" cried a third one, leaving his work-bench.
"Right you are!" exclaimed all the others, rolling up their sleeves aggressively.
"If the boss doesn't give us an eight-hour day and higher wages, we quit tomorrow, eh, boys?" cried the angry Irishman, his nose turning from red to purple in his excitement.
Martin had been endeavoring, with ever-increasing earnestness, to calm the excited minds of the workmen, but all that he had been able to say to this end had been laughed to scorn. The next morning he was the only one who appeared at the factory.
At ten o'clock came a deputation of the employees to the office of the manufacturer. Mr. Denison was perfectly willing to agree to a raise in wages, but he would hear nothing of an eight-hour workday, even at the risk of having to stop work for an indefinite period. Orders were coming in day by day. The busy season had just opened and the shutting down of the works would have meant a considerable loss to the manufacturer.
Accordingly, Martin received orders to engage new workmen at once and set them going at their different tasks. The strikers no sooner became aware of this than they began to cast angry glances at Martin.
"Our places to be taken by others?" cried the red-headed Irishman to Martin, in a voice choked with rage, as the latter, weary and worn, prepared to take his way homeward.