She extended her hand to him and he took it tenderly, fearing he might grasp it too closely and betray himself.
Mrs. Sartwell and her step-daughter were the last to go.
Barney threw himself on a divan and lit a cigarette.
“Well, my young friend, here we are alone at last. Help yourself to the cigarettes and allow me to offer you something stronger than the tea with which we regale the ladies. We have several shots in the locker, so just name your particular favourite in the way of stimulant while I order a B and S for myself. You might not believe it, but one of these afternoons takes it out of a fellow more than a day’s work at the factory. Not that I ever indulged in factory work myself, but I think you said it was in your line.”
“Yes,” said Marsten, after declining the offerings of his host. “It is about the factory I wish to speak with you. The men resolved last night to go out on strike.”
“Foolish beggars.”
“I quite agree with you. Their action is worse than foolish—that is why I came to see if you would intervene in any way so that a better state of feeling might be brought about.”
“Well, now—let’s see, I believe I have forgotten your name, or did you tell me? Ah, Marsten—thanks—so many things on my mind, don’t you know. You see, Mr. Marsten, it’s really no business of mine, although I must admit that your offer of the position of arbitrator flatters me. This makes twice I have been asked within a few days, so I think I must really be a born diplomat, don’t you know. But you see, there’s nothing I enjoy so much as minding my own business, and this strike is no affair of mine.”
“I think it is. All the luxury you have here is surely earned by the men I am now speaking for.”
“My dear fellow, you are not in the least flattering now; you are not, I assure you. You are saying in other words that my pictures do not sell.”