She was looking at him, tremendously in earnest, yet all the while wondering at her own boldness. He slowly nodded.
"You're right," he said. "You're the one to do the talking. I won't ask you what you're going to say. I guess you understand it as well as anybody."
"I don't know yet, myself," she answered. "It isn't that, it isn't that there's something particular to say, but he's a poor man, and they've been telling him that the company is cheating him and stealing from him—I wouldn't like it myself, if I were in his place and didn't know any more than he does. And maybe I can show him that we'll be a good deal fairer to him before we get through than Mr. Grady will."
"Yes," said Bannon, "I think you can. And if you can keep this out of the courts I'll write Brown that there's a young lady down here that's come nearer to earning a big salary than I ever did to deserving a silk hat."
"Oh," she said, the earnest expression skipping abruptly out of her eyes; "did your hat come?"
"Not a sign of it. I'd clean forgotten. I'll give Brown one more warning— a long 'collect' telegram, about forty words—and then if he doesn't toe up, I'll get one and send him the bill.
"There was a man that looked some like Grady worked for me on the
Galveston house. He was a carpenter, and thought he stood for the whole
Federation of Labor. He got gay one day. I warned him once, and then I
threw him off the distributing floor."
Hilda thought he was joking until she looked up and saw his face.
"Didn't it—didn't it kill him?" she asked.
"I don't remember exactly. I think there were some shavings there." He stood looking at her for a moment. "Do you know," he said, "if Grady comes up on the job again, I believe I'll tell him that story? I wonder if he'd know what I meant."