"He'll never get over that trick of blushing," thought Mary. At the end of the hall was a closet door with a mirror set in it. She caught sight of her own cheeks. "Oh, dear!" she breathed to herself. "I wonder if I'm catching it, too!"
Once outside, Archey began talking with the concentration of a man who is trying to put his mind on something else.
"This work up here was a lucky turn for some of the strikers," he said. "Things are getting slack again now and men are being laid off. Here and there I begin to hear the old grumbling, 'Three thousand women keeping three thousand men out of jobs.' So whenever I hear that, I remind them how you found work for a lot of the men up here—and then of course I tell them it was their own fault—going on strike in the first place—just to get four women discharged!"
"And even if three thousand women are doing the work of three thousand men," said Mary, "I don't see why any one should object—if the women don't. The wages are being spent just the same to pay rent and buy food and clothes—and the savings are going into the bank—more so than when the men were drawing the money!"
"I guess it's a question of pride on the man's part—as much as anything else—"
"Oh, Archey—don't you think a woman has pride, too?"
"Well, you know what I mean. He feels he ought to be doing the work, instead of the woman."
"Oh, Archey," she said again. "Can't you begin to see that the average woman has always worked harder than the average man? You ask any of the women at the factory which is the easiest—the work they are doing now—or the work they used to do."
"I keep forgetting that. But how about this—I hear it all the time. Suppose the idea spreads and after a while there are millions of women doing work that used to be done by men—what are the men going to do?"
"That's a secret," she laughed. "But I'll tell you some day—if you're good—"