“Oh, now you are making him out worse than even I think him. I don’t imagine he is bribable, you know.”
“Would that be bribery?”
“Suspiciously like it; but he can strike or not as he wishes—one more or less doesn’t matter to me. I hope, if they go, they will go in a body; a few remaining would only complicate things. Now that you understand all about the situation, are you satisfied? It isn’t every woman I would discuss it with, you know, so you ought to be flattered.”
Sartwell was his own man once more, and he was mentally resolving not to be thrown off the centre again.
“Yes, father, and thank you,” said the girl. “The cab is waiting,” she added, more to let him know that so far as she was concerned the discussion was ended, than to impart the information conveyed in her words.
“Let it wait. That’s what cabs are for. The cabby usually likes it better than hurrying. Sit down a moment, Edna; I’ll be ready presently.”
The girl sat down beside her father’s table. Usually Mr. Sartwell preferred his desk to his table, for the desk was tall where a man stands when he writes. This desk had three compartments, with a lid to each. These were always locked, and Sartwell’s clerks had keys to two of them. The third was supposed to contain the manager’s most private papers, as no one but himself ever saw the inside of it. The lid locked automatically when it was shut, and the small key that opened it dangled at Sartwell’s watch-chain.
Edna watched her father as he unlocked one after another of the compartments and apparently rearranged his papers. There was always about his actions a certain well-defined purpose, but the girl could not help noticing that now he appeared irresolute and wavering. He seemed to be marking time rather than making progress with any definite work. She wondered if the coming strike was worrying him more than he had been willing to admit. She wished to help, but knew that nothing would be more acceptable to him than simply leaving him alone. She also knew that when her father said he would be ready to go home with her at a certain hour he usually was ready when that hour came. Why, then, did he delay his departure?
At last Sartwell closed down the lid of one desk and locked it as if he were shutting in his wavering purpose, then he placed the key from his watch-guard in the third lock and threw back the cover. An electric light dangling by a cord from the ceiling, threw down into the desk rays reflected by a circular opal shade that covered the lamp. The manager gazed for a few moments into the desk, then turning to his daughter, said:
“Edna, you startled me when you came in tonight.”