There was a big battle on between capital and labor. He was in the thick of it. He put Tom out of his mind for the time being. He could do that at will; but he could not put Tom out of his heart—this little chap that people called ruthless.
V
Tom Merriwether went to the box-office at the Metropolitan and said, pleasantly, as men do when they ask for what they know will be given to them:
“I want the seat just back of G 77—orchestra—for to-night. I suppose it will be H 77.”
The clerk, who knew the heir of the Merriwether millions, said, “I'll see whether we have it, Mr. Merriwether.” He saw. Then he said, with sincere regret: “I'm very sorry. It's gone.”
“I must have it,” said Tom, determinedly.
“I don't quite see how I can help you, Mr. Merri-wether. I can give you another just as—”
“I don't want any other seat. Who bought it?”
“I don't know. It may be a subscription seat, sold months ago.”
“It's the double seven on the seventh row that I am concerned about. I want the seat just back of it.”