The agreement between the Malleson Manufacturing Company and its employees was to expire on the first day of January. The men demanded a new agreement, and, under the leadership of Bricky Hoover, set about to obtain it. The new agreement, they declared, must provide for a schedule of wages which would show a ten per cent. advance. There must also be better pay for overtime, the discharge of all non-union employees, and full recognition of the union in all matters pertaining to the employment of labor. The men were sustained in their demand by the local unions to which they belonged, and their action was fully and formally approved by the central body. Of course the Malleson Company protested, and declined to accede to the demands. There were counter-propositions and conferences; but neither side would yield. The first day of January came and went. By tacit agreement work was continued, awaiting a settlement. But no settlement came. Day by day the situation grew more critical. Finally, at a mass-meeting of employees, peremptory instructions were given to the strike committee, in pursuance of which an ultimatum was issued to the company to the effect that unless within three days the demands of the men were complied with the strike order would go into effect. On the afternoon of the last day Richard Malleson called together his board of directors, and, after careful and serious consideration of the situation, they decided to yield. It was really the only thing to do. Of course there was a choice between two evils; on the one hand the practical wiping out of profits through increased wages and shorter hours, on the other the disaster that would come with and follow a long and costly strike. The president of the company advised his associates to choose the first horn of the dilemma, and they did so. But they chose it despairingly and resentfully, with bitterness in their hearts. The men, of course, were jubilant. They had obtained practically everything for which they had asked. On one point only had they yielded. The seven non-union employees were permitted to remain. But, as an offset, a clause was inserted in the new agreement to the effect that no discrimination of any kind, at any time, should be made against any one on account of his affiliation with a union, nor on account of his participation in the controversy, nor on account—and this was emphasized—of his leadership in the successful fight for better conditions. So work did not cease, wages were advanced, hours were shortened, the rights of labor had been sustained, a long step had been taken toward the goal which the workingman has always in view. Steve Lamar and Bricky Hoover were the heroes of the hour. The first because he had so skilfully planned and directed the contest, the second because, as leader and spokesman, he had come out of every conference with flying colors, and by sheer persistence had brought Richard Malleson and his capitalistic partners to their knees.
On the evening following the signing of the new wage-agreement the barroom of the Silver Star was crowded. It was still early, but there was barely standing room in the place. When Lamar and Hoover entered together a great shout went up. Every foaming glass was held high and clinked loudly, and drained to the bottom in their honor. These, indeed, were the men to free labor from its chains. Smilingly, deprecatingly as became them, they acknowledged the greeting and passed on into the inner room which had been the scene of so many of their conferences. When they were seated at a table, their glasses half-drained, the tips of their cigars glowing cheerily, Lamar looked at Bricky, smiled and said:
“Well?”
And Bricky smiled back and replied:
“Well?”
“So far so good,” said Lamar. “Now for the strike.”
“The what?” asked Bricky.
“The strike.”
“Why, man, ain’t that just what we’ve got away from with whole hides?”