“The men are restless,” he said, bitterly. “One day they’re going to walk out in a mob.”
“Can’t you satisfy them?” Fabius Waite said, looking at the problem from the old angle of capital and labor.
“That’s a thing that doesn’t enter into it, father. They’re frightened. They have cause. I’m frightened myself.”
“Well?”
“We’ve been delayed. We should have been delivering in quantities by this date, but what have we done? Not even a miserable dribble of motors has gone out. Not enough to experiment with, enough to play with in a few aviation camps.... But we’ve got to equip an army. Small things have happened, but every one of them is threatening, and the men see and worry about them.”
“Bosh!”
“It’s not bosh, father! These men aren’t soldiers, trained to risk their lives. They are ordinary working-men, trying to support their families. I’m afraid for them. We’re getting along now, in spite of all delays. We’re getting in shape to produce. It’s the moment we are ready that I’m afraid of, the moment when these sabotage tactics have to be thrown in the discard. The man who is organizing this thing knows we will get ready in spite of all he can do.... He’s planning for that day. I’d bet my life on it. When we are ready he’ll be ready—and he’ll strike if we don’t prevent him. The moment it will pay him best to try to destroy this plant is when the plant is completed. That would be the hardest blow he could deliver, and he’s the man to deliver it. Whoever he is, he’s too much for Downs and his men.”
“Get him,” said his father.
“We’ve tried to get him for months, but we’re no nearer than we were. Downs has rounded up spies—subordinates, strong-arm men, and that sort. But they knew nothing. To break up this thing we’ve got to get the man at the top.”
“Well, get him. There’s a way. Nobody is so smart that he can hide all the roads that lead to him.”