“I remember, Wickes, I remember. And that's another reason—We must find another way out.”
“I have been thinking, sir,” said the bookkeeper timidly, “if you had a younger man in my place—”
“You would go out, eh? I believe on my soul you would. You—you—old fool. But,” said Maitland, reaching his hand across the desk, “I don't go back on old friends that way.”
The two men stood facing each other for a few minutes, with hands clasped, Maitland's face stern and set, Wickes' working in a pitiful effort to stay the tears that ran down his cheeks, to choke back the sobs that shook his old body as if in the grip of some unseen powerful hand.
“We must find a way,” said Maitland, when he felt sure of his voice. “Some way, but not that way. Sit down. We must go through this together.”
CHAPTER VII
THE FOREMAN
Grant Maitland's business instincts and training were such as to forbid any trifling with loose management in any department of his plant. He was, moreover, too just a man to allow any of his workmen to suffer for failures not their own. His first step was to get at the facts. His preliminary move was characteristic of him. He sent for McNish.
“McNish,” he said, “your figures I have examined. They tell me nothing I did not know, but they are cleverly set down. The matter of wages I shall deal with as I have always dealt with it in my business. The other matter—” Mr. Maitland paused, then proceeded with grave deliberation, “I must deal with in my own way. It will take a little time. I shall not delay unnecessarily, but I shall accept dictation from no man as to my methods.”