It was well that the crowd kept moving, and gesticulating too for that matter, for the late March day had brought keen winds and flurries of snow, and comfort was not to be had by standing motionless in the street.
It was past the hour for the meeting, and the doors of the hall had not yet been opened. That was inexcusable. The men demanded that they be permitted to enter in order that they might at least keep warm. They struggled with each other for places near the steps. Then word came that the proprietor of the hall had refused them entrance. One said that it was because the rent had not been paid in advance. Another said that the owners of the property were afraid there would be violence in the meeting, and the destruction of furniture. Still another called attention to the fact that the building was owned by Mr. Hughes and Colonel Boston, both of whom were directors of the Malleson Manufacturing Company. At this a few of the hot-headed ones were for smashing in the doors and taking possession anyway. It was a crime, they said, for any one to keep them standing in the street on a day like this. What unwise counsels might have prevailed will never be known, for, suddenly, a strong and penetrating voice rang out above the tumult. It was the voice of the rector of Christ Church. He was standing on the steps leading to the entrance door, and was inviting them to hold their meeting in the parish hall of his church, only five blocks away. He had learned of their predicament, had taken pity on them, and, moved by a generous impulse, was offering them shelter under a roof which truly had never covered such an audience as this. He bade them follow him. Some of them did so gladly, applauding his generosity as they went. Others fell into line sullenly and hesitatingly, seeing in the invitation only a bid, on the part of the Church, for the favor of the laboring masses. A few refused to go at all; declaring that they would perish rather than hold their meeting under the auspices or by grace of a Church the very shadow of whose spire was hateful to them. But, for the most part, they went along. A sense of decorum fell upon them as they entered the doors of the parish hall. They removed their caps, took their seats quietly, and awaited the presentation of the issues which they were to decide.
The meeting was called to order by the president of their local union who stated briefly the purpose of the gathering, and then called for the report of the committee that had last visited the president of the Malleson Manufacturing Company. There was little in the report that was new to the men. Mr. Malleson had refused to open his mills to his former employees, on any terms, whether they came singly or in a body. He would not treat with them on any questions or under any conditions. He had said that they were dupes and fools to listen to the counsel of designing and self-seeking leaders who had nothing to lose and everything to gain by prolonging the strike. Finally, he had practically ordered the members of the committee from his room, and had warned them not to intrude again upon his privacy with their childish demands nor with their terms of surrender.
At the conclusion of the report there were mutterings and hisses, and not a few bitter denunciations of the president and his policy, and these denunciations were not entirely unaccompanied by threats.
A resolution was offered to the effect that the strike be declared off, and that the union officials and the officers of the company be notified at once of the action. The motion to adopt the resolution was duly seconded, and then the contention began anew. There were strong and passionate arguments both for and against the prolongation of the strike. Men with haggard faces told of the suffering that they and their families had endured, and begged that they might be permitted, without infraction of the union rules, and without the ignominy of being hailed and treated as scabs, to seek their old jobs. Others arose and appealed to their fellow-workmen, declaring that while they too had suffered, they were nevertheless ready to die in the last ditch in order that the dignity of labor might be maintained, and their rights as human beings upheld. It was crude oratory, but it had its effect. The tide of sentiment swung away from those who would bring the strike to a speedy end by surrender, and turned strongly toward those who would prolong it for the general and ultimate good.
Stephen Lamar, walking delegate, sitting up in a far corner of the hall, surrounded by his personal adherents, watching the proceedings with anxious eyes, was quick to note the dangerous tendency that the meeting was taking on. He knew that he must at once fling himself and his personality into the controversy in order to stem the tide that was setting so strongly toward complete disaster. He had not cared to speak. He had not hitherto considered it necessary that he should do so. The situation had seemed to be firmly enough in his grasp. But now he felt that it was imperative that he should take the floor, else everything would be lost; and how would he ever again face Mary Bradley?
When he arose there were hoarse shouts of welcome, and cries of “To the platform, Steve!” So he mounted the platform and began to speak. He reminded his hearers of the years of devoted service he had given to the cause of labor.
Some one in the audience cried out:
“Ye’ve been well paid for it, too.”