The letter was opened and read by Uncle Jack, who passed it on to his brothers.
They read it in turn, and it was handed to me, when I read as follows:
“This hear’s the nif as coot them weel-bans. Stope makhin noo kine steel, or be strang and bad for wurks.”
“Come in the office and let’s talk it over,” said Uncle Bob. “This must have been placed here by someone in the works.”
“Yes,” said Uncle Jack bitterly. “It is plain enough: the wheel-bands have been cut by one of the men who get their living by us, and who take our pay.”
“And you see the scoundrel who wrote that letter threatens worse treatment if we do not give up making the new silver steel.”
“Yes,” said Uncle Jack sternly as he turned to Uncle Dick; “what do you mean to do?”
“Begin a fresh batch to-day, and let the men know it is being done. Here, let’s show them that we can be as obstinate as they.” Then aloud as we approached the men where they had grouped together, talking about the “cooten bands,” as they termed it. “You go at once to the machinist’s and get a couple of men sent on to repair such of these bands as they can, and put new ones where they are shortened too much by the mending.”
Uncle Bob smiled at once.
“Look here,” said Uncle Dick sharply, “some of you men can make shift by tying or binding your bands till they are properly done.”