“Why, I’ve heard something of the kind. But there’s no occasion for it. Really there isn’t. The men have a very liberal agreement. I signed it myself as vice-president of the company last January.”
“Nevertheless the men are dissatisfied with it. They’re going to demand a change. The question is what are your people going to do for them?”
“Why, the matter hasn’t come up. We haven’t considered it.”
“Pardon me, but I think it’s time you did. Do not misunderstand me. I’m not a member of the Union, and I don’t represent the men in any way. But I’m interested in them. I feel that they’re deserving of better wages than they’re getting, and better conditions of labor, and that they ought to get those things without having to fight for them.”
“But they’ve already got them, Mrs. Bradley.”
“Oh, I know that’s the way you look at it, but you don’t see it from the men’s standpoint at all. I wish you could. I wish I could make you. I sympathize with them so deeply. That’s why I’m interceding for them.”
“A—it’s very kind of you.”
“I suppose I ought to go to your father. He’s president of the company. But I don’t know him. I should be afraid. I hear he’s very stern.”
“Oh, not so very. That depends on how you happen to strike him.”
“I wouldn’t take the chance of making a fortunate strike. But it occurred to me that you are vice-president of the company, and that’s nearly as important a position, and—and I know you.” Her eloquent eyes rested on Barry’s for a moment in mute appeal, and then modestly dropped. “You’ve been my friend,” she continued, “and my adviser. And, somehow, I’m not afraid to talk to you.”