“And are the men out? Is that why you are here to-day?”
“No; they do not go out until Saturday. I did what I could to prevent it, but without success. I applied to your father for this afternoon off, and he gave it to me without asking any questions. It seemed to me that in the few intervening days before the men go out, something might be done, when the enthusiasm of the meeting had died down. That’s why I came, but I’m afraid there is not much to look for here.”
“Does father know?”
“About the strike? Oh, yes.”
The girl’s winsome face clouded with apprehension. “I am so sorry,” she said, at last. “I am sure it is not father’s fault, for he is kind to every one. Even if he is sometimes severe”—she cast a shy upward glance at the young man that made his heart beat faster—“he is always just.”
“Yes, I know that is true. He will beat the men, and that is the reason I want moderate counsels to prevail. The workingman is always the under dog. Most of his mouthing friends are fools, and he himself is the greatest fool of all.”
“Don’t you think you are a little hard on the workingman? Were you here in time to see the dancing Earl?”
She looked at him with a frank smile, and Marsten smiled in company with her—it brightened his face wonderfully, and established an evanescent bond of comradeship between them.
“I had forgotten the Earl,” he said.
“I must go now. I see my step-mother looking for me. I hope you will be successful in averting trouble at the works.”