Stephen Lamar went straight from the Silver Star saloon to the home of Mary Bradley on Factory Hill.
“I beg to report,” he said to her, “that your orders concerning Richard Malleson are in process of execution.”
“What have you done to him?” she asked.
“I’ve compelled him to sign a new agreement to avoid a strike.”
“I know you have. You’ve given him a chance to save himself when you might have crushed him.”
“Don’t be too fast. I know what I’m about. The new agreement will hurt him more than two strikes would.”
“How do you make that out?”
“He can’t afford to pay the scale. It’s ruinous. It eats up all profits. I know. I have it straight from his own office.”
“But it doesn’t wreck him. I want him wrecked. He’ll meet the scale by raising the price of his product.”