The three men who had the local affairs of the company in charge heard them through quietly. Then young Harold Crofton, acting as spokesman, said, “Will you tell us how long since you discovered that your wages were unfair?”
The committee severally fumbled its hat and looked confused. Finally Grierson, who had been speaking for them, said: “Well, we’ve been thinkin’ about it fur a good while. Especially ever sence, ahem—”
“Yes,” went on Crofton, “to be plain and more definite, ever since the appearance among you of Mr. Tom Daly, the agitator, the destroyer of confidence between employer and employed, the weasel who sucks your blood and tells you that he is doing you a service. You have discovered the unfairness of your compensation since making his acquaintance.”
“Well, I guess he told us the truth,” growled Grierson.
“That is a matter of opinion.”
“But look what you all are earnin’.”
“That’s what we’re in the business for. We haven’t left comfortable homes in the cities to come down to this hole in the mountains for our health. We have a right to earn. We brought capital, enterprise, and energy here. We give you work and pay you decent wages. It is none of your business what we earn.” The young man’s voice rose a little, and a light came into his calm gray eyes. “Have you not been comfortable? Have you not lived well and been able to save something? Have you not been treated like men? What more do you want? What real grievance have you? None. A scoundrel and a sneak has come here, and for his own purposes aroused your covetousness. But it is unavailing, and,” turning to his colleagues, “these gentlemen will bear me out in what I say,—we will not raise your wages one-tenth of one penny above what they are. We will not be made to suffer for the laxity of other owners, and if within three hours the men are not back at work, they may consider themselves discharged.” His voice was cold, clear, and ringing.
Surprised, disappointed, and abashed, the committee heard the ultimatum, and then shuffled out of the office in embarrassed silence. It was all so different from what they had expected. They thought that they had only to demand and their employers would accede rather than have the work stop. Labour had but to make a show of resistance and capital would yield. So they had been told. But here they were, the chosen representatives of labour, skulking away from the presence of capital like felons detected. Truly this was a change. Embarrassment gave way to anger, and the miners who waited the report of their committee received a highly coloured account of the stand-offish way in which they had been met. If there had been anything lacking to inflame the rising feelings of the labourers, this new evidence of the arrogance of plutocrats supplied it, and with one voice the strike was confirmed.
Soon after the three hours’ grace had passed, Jason Andrews received a summons to the company’s office.
“Andrews,” said young Crofton, “we have noticed your conduct with gratitude since this trouble has been brewing. The other foremen have joined the strikers and gone out. We know where you stand and thank you for your kindness. But we don’t want it to end with thanks. It is well to give the men a lesson and bring them to their senses, but the just must not suffer with the unjust. In less than two days the mine will be manned by Negroes with their own foreman. We wish to offer you a place in the office here at the same wages you got in the mine.”