Andy Hall shook his head.
"I'd like to be polite and agreeable," he said. "But I'm not acting for myself as an individual, you must remember. The men threshed this out pretty well before they took action. They won't move a stick unless they get this raise. They've tried to talk to Handy and Jim simply grinned and fired the men who insisted on talking. The point is this. There is no such thing as a standard wage in the logging industry. You are paying as much as most camps, more than some, less than others. The International, on Vancouver Island, employing over four hundred men, is paying what we ask. So are two or three smaller concerns."
"And," Hall continued without heat, as deliberate as if he were intoning a column of figures, "we are working under a foreman who is a driver. That's nothing against Jim Handy. We're not sore on him. A logging boss holds a boss's job by virtue of ability to get out logs. But old Jim keeps a crew on its toes. If a man isn't up and coming, he doesn't work long for Handy. We're putting more timber per man per day into the booming ground than any crew on the coast."
"How do you know that?" Phil demanded sharply.
"We have made it our business to find out," Hall answered imperturbably. "You know it's so—if you keep tab on your business. That's why we want more money. We're earning it. We're entitled to it."
"And," Wright put in, "if we don't get it, we're through. Nobody wants to work on a job where he knows he's getting too much the worst of the deal."
"We can, I suppose you know, pay you all off and get another crew," Phil reminded.
"And we can get other jobs," Hall replied unruffled. "But we'd both be loser. No, that wouldn't benefit either party to this dispute. You have a reputation for being fair, as fairness is reckoned in logging camps. That's why you have efficient crews and a minimum of labor trouble. We know we are entitled to what we ask. If we don't get it, we'll be good and sure it isn't a question of the Norquay Estate being unable to pay such wages and still show a profit. We'll know the refusal is purely on the grounds of policy. And if a logger's frank opinion is anything to you, you'll find it damned poor policy."
Phil sat tapping his pencil on the desk, smiling a little to himself.
"Go down to the landing and wait for me there," he said. "I'll give you a definite answer inside of half an hour."