“Still, to dock their wages fifteen per cent.,” said Ellen, thoughtfully.
“What right has Mr. Lloyd?”
“I suppose he'd say he has the right because he has the capital.”
“I don't see why that gives him the right.”
“You'd better go and talk to him,” said Abby. “As for me, I made up my mind when I went to work in the shop that I'd got to be a bond-slave, all but my soul. That can kick free, thank the Lord.”
“I didn't make up my mind to it,” said Ellen. “I am not going to be a slave in any way, and I am not going to approve of others being slaves.”
“You think they ought to strike?”
“Yes, if it is true that Mr. Lloyd is going to dock their wages, but I don't feel sure that it is true. Mr. Beals is a queer man. Sometimes I have thought he was dangerous.”
Chapter XLII
Tuesday evening was one of those marvellously clear atmospheres of autumn which seem to be clearer from the contrast to the mists of the recent summer. The stars swarmed out in unnumbered hosts.