Both foremen stared at him. Nellie Stone smiled a little covertly.
“Why, you know you had a committee wait upon you last night, Mr. Lloyd,” replied Dennison.
Flynn looked out of the window at the retreating throngs of workmen, and gave a whistle under his breath.
“Have they struck because of the wage-cutting?” asked Robert, in a curious, boyish, incredulous, aggrieved tone. Then all at once he colored violently. “Let them strike, then!” he cried. He threw himself into a chair and took up the morning paper, with its glaring headlines about the unprecedented storm, as if nothing had happened. Nellie Stone, after a sly wink at Flynn, which he did not return, began writing again. Flynn went out, and Dennison remained standing in a rather helpless attitude. A strike in Lloyd's was unprecedented, but this manner of receiving the news was more unprecedented still. The proprietor was apparently reading the morning paper with much interest, when two more foremen, heads of other departments, came hurrying in.
“I have heard already,” said Robert, in response to their gasped information. Then he turned another page of the paper.
“What's to be done, sir?” said one of the new-comers, after a prolonged stare at his companion and Dennison. He was a spare man, with a fierce glimmer of blue eyes under bent brows.
“Let them strike if they want to,” replied Robert.
It was in his mind to explain at length to these men his reasons for cutting the wages—for his own attitude as he knew it himself was entirely reasonable—but the pride of a proud family was up in him.
“The strike would never have been on, for the men went to work quietly enough, if it hadn't been for that Brewster girl,” Dennison said, presently, but rather doubtfully. He was not quite sure how the information would be received.
Robert dropped his paper, and stared at him with angry incredulity.