“You have from now until Friday night. I give you up to the latest moment, and that is why I pay six times as much and use the telegraph rather than the post. Letters would do quite as well mailed on Friday. The works open on Monday, with or without you, so you see you have little time to lose.”
“I shall go at once to London and call a meeting of the men. May I see you at your office to-morrow?”
“Certainly. My office is always open: but remember, it is an unconditional surrender now. I’ll have no more parleying.”
“Good-by,” said Marsten briefly, turning on his heel and hurrying to the gate, father and daughter watching him until he disappeared. Sartwell sank down in one of the chairs, murmuring as he did so:
“Thank God!”
“Why do you say that, father?”
“Say what? Oh! Because a certain tension has been relaxed. I have seen Hope and Monkton off together for Germany this morning, and they will be gone for at least a fortnight. This leaves me a clear field, and I will crush this strike as I would an eggshell.”
Sartwell nervously clenched his right hand, as if the egg-shell were within it.
“I am sorry for the men, father.”
“So am I, my dear, if they stand out; but it will be their own fault. Experience is said to teach a specified class of individuals, and they are preparing for themselves a bitter dose of it.”