Mr. Tredegar raised his hand. "Excuse me," he said. "I understood from Mrs. Westmore that it was you who asked her permission to call this evening and set forth certain grievances on the part of the operatives."
Amherst reddened. "I did ask her—yes. But I don't in any sense represent the operatives. I simply wanted to say a word for them."
Mr. Tredegar folded his hands again, and crossed one lean little leg over the other, bringing into his line of vision the glossy tip of a patent-leather pump, which he studied for a moment in silence.
"Does Mr. Truscomb know of your intention?" he then enquired.
"No, sir," Amherst answered energetically, glad that he had forced the lawyer out of his passive tactics. "I am here on my own responsibility—and in direct opposition to my own interests," he continued with a slight smile. "I know that my proceeding is quite out of order, and that I have, personally, everything to lose by it, and in a larger way probably very little to gain; but I thought Mrs. Westmore's attention ought to be called to certain conditions at the mills, and no one else seemed likely to speak of them."
"May I ask why you assume that Mr. Truscomb will not do so when he has the opportunity?"
Amherst could not repress a smile. "Because it is owing to Mr. Truscomb that they exist."
"The real object of your visit then," said Mr. Tredegar, speaking with deliberation, "is—er—an underhand attack on your manager's methods?"
Amherst's face darkened, but he kept his temper. "I see nothing especially underhand in my course——"
"Except," the other interposed ironically, "that you have waited to speak till Mr. Truscomb was not in a position to defend himself."