“It looks as if the unions meant business,” he said, “and in this agitation against alien labor they seem to have public sympathy. Have you any Japs at the mill?”
“I believe so. That’s partly why I’m going. Until I read the papers this morning I thought I’d stay away. I figured it might be better to let the boy worry through alone and see what he could make of it.”
“Let him win his spurs?”
“That’s right. I told him to sit tight, and so long as he made good I’d foot the bill; but after the big row in Vancouver yesterday, I thought I’d go along. Still, my notion is to keep in the background unless I find I’m badly wanted.”
His manner was half apologetic, and Osborne smiled. Clay was not addicted to hovering in the background when things were happening; but Osborne knew the affection he bore his son.
“It might be wiser for you to be on the spot; the white mob seems to be in an ugly mood,” he said. “How is Aynsley getting on?”
“Better than I expected. The boy has the right grip and he’s taking hold.” Clay turned abruptly and fixed Osborne with his eyes. “I was a bit puzzled about his making up his mind all at once that he’d run the mill. Do you know of anything that might have helped to persuade him?”
“Since you ask, I have a suspicion,” Osborne answered.
“So have I; I guess it matches yours. It’s like the young fool that a word from a girl who knows less than he does should have more effect than all the reasons I gave him.”
“It’s not unnatural,” Osborne smiled.