"Exactly what I was sayin'," responded David, "an' if things goes on like they promise now, you an' Madeline'll have to take in washin' to support this family—that's the gospel truth."
"I don't believe father's in fun," Madeline persisted. "Anything go wrong to-day with business matters?" she enquired, looking across the table at her father.
That David was in earnest was obvious enough. "Everything wrong, appearin'ly," he said, rolling up his napkin and returning it to its ring. "The men's goin' to strike—seems to me there's a strike every other alternate day," he went on. "Doin' business nowadays is like a bird tryin' to hatch out eggs when they're cuttin' down the tree—some o' them darned firebrands from St. Louis have been stirrin' up the men; a lot o' lazy man-eaters," he concluded vehemently.
"What do the men want, David?" his wife asked innocently.
Mr. Borland looked at her incredulously. "What do they want—the same old thing they've been wantin' ever since Adam went into the fruit business—less work an' more pay. An' they've appointed a couple o' fellows—a delegation they call it—to wait on the manufacturers privately an' present their claims. There's two different fellows to interview each man—an' they're comin' here to-night. They didn't tell me they was comin'—I jest heard it casual."
"To-night!" echoed Mrs. Borland, "where'll they sit?"
"Chairs, I reckon," replied her spouse.
"You're so facetious, David. Where'll they sit when they're talking to you?—you know what I mean."
"Oh, I reckon we'll have it out in the den—there'll be lots o' growlin', anyhow. I'm not worryin' much about where they sit; it's the stand they take that troubles me the most," and David indulged a well-earned smile.
"You're very gay about it, father," Madeline chimed in, "making merry with the English language."