"Yes," she said, with a sigh. "I want you to go now, otherwise—you will never be able to come back to us. Come, dear," she went on, smiling at his puzzled expression, and taking him by the hand, "I must go and send my message to Mr. Hendrie."
CHAPTER XIV
THE STRIKE
Angus looked up into the faces of the three men standing beyond his roll-top desk, which was littered with dust and debris such as no man accustomed to office work could have tolerated. But Angus was no office man. He hated the place, and only used it when his work obliged him to.
Just now he was glad of it. He was glad of its support in dealing with affairs such as were confronting him at the moment. It helped him to an air which he felt to be necessary. Full well he knew the awe of a roll-top desk for these sons of the soil.
Now he leaned back in his chair, and his cold eyes glanced deliberately at each man's face in turn. They were russet-hued faces, bearded and unkempt. They were the faces of men strong in muscle if simple of mind. They were three of his farm hands, and each one had served under his guidance for many years. They were competent, skilled machinists, whose thought was only for their work and their weekly wage.
Angus knew them well, for willing, hard-working men, with a weakness only for taking things easy on Monday mornings, and an invincible desire to reach the Russell Hotel bar punctually at one o'clock on Saturday afternoons.
Secretly he regretted the interview; outwardly he was roughly indifferent.
The men stood silent and uncomfortable under his scrutiny, but a surly truculence was in their eyes as they endeavored to return his stare.