“My dear, you are right,” said her father. “Patricia is really talking too much. Young people should—”
“I know, Daddy—'be seen,'” said the younger daughter, and grinning affectionately at him she blew him a kiss. “But, all the same, I wish Captain Jack were not so awfully busy or were a little more keen about things. He wants something to stir him up.”
“He may get that sooner than he thinks,” said Stillwell, “or wishes. I hear there's likely to be trouble in the mills.”
“Trouble? Financial? I should be very sorry,” said Dr. Templeton.
“No. Labour. The whole labour world is in a ferment. The Maitlands can hardly expect to escape. As a matter of fact, the row has made a little start, I happen to know.”
“These labour troubles are really very distressing. There is no end to them,” said Mrs. Templeton, with the resignation one shows in discussing the inscrutable ways of Providence. “It does seem as if the working classes to-day have got quite beyond all bounds. One wonders what they will demand next. What is the trouble now, Rupert? Of course—wages.”
“Oh, the eternal old trouble is there, with some new ones added that make even wages seem small.”
“And what are these?” enquired Dr. Templeton.
“Oh, division of profits, share in administration and control.”
“Division of profits in addition to wages?” enquired Mrs. Templeton, aghast. “But, how dreadful. One would think they actually owned the factory.”