“Yes, ma’am,” said Edwards bitterly, “if they accept the cut in wages.”
“And are there many families of three?”
“Most are a good deal more than three,” he replied. “About twenty per cent. of the men are unmarried and perhaps bring the average down to three.”
Catherine’s face had an odd expression. Stacey thought she looked like a sorrowful goddess. “Before my husband died,” she said, “we were a family of four. We were living on two hundred and fifty dollars a month, and you thought, Mr. Carroll, that we had to live too sordidly. You will do something?”
He gazed at her kindly, but did not reply at once.
Stacey was touched by the mention of Phil. The thought of Phil was with him, almost like a gentle presence, very often. Catherine spoke of him seldom but, when she did so, quite simply and naturally, as now. She must miss him sadly, Stacey thought, and felt grieved for her. But, since it was his instinct to carry through unswervingly anything he had undertaken, he was also exultant, as well as faintly amused at his father, who was being swept away from principles at every turn, simply not permitted to play with them.
“I can’t say I like those statistics,” said Mr. Carroll at last, more to Catherine than to Edwards. Then he turned to the latter. “But I’d have to know more. I’d have to look into things. And then I don’t know what I could do about it; I might do something, I suppose. Confound it! sir,” he exclaimed impatiently, “why didn’t you take this up with some official of the company?”
“I want you to know more, sir,” Edwards returned eagerly. “I’d like it if you’d go down with me and see some of the strikers man to man, get their story.”
Mr. Carroll reflected, frowning. “All right,” he said sharply. “Come to my office to-morrow morning at nine.”
Catherine’s face fairly shone, and Mr. Carroll, looking back at her, relaxed his sternness and leaned over to pat her hand.