As Mr. Coddington drew a sigh of relief he inclined his head.
“You have been correctly informed,” he assented. “We need more room. The land is lying idle with a tax to be paid yearly upon it. It seems to me an economic plan to utilize the space for a new factory in which the patent leather department may be housed.”
“Did you realize, in deciding, that the field you intend to take is the recreation ground of the men in your mills?” asked Bryant.
“I know that some of the men play ball there,” replied Mr. Coddington, smiling.
“And yet you have decided to take it in spite of that fact?”
“The land,” said he, “is mine, and the taxes I annually pay on it render it rather a costly spot for a ball field. For years the lot has been nothing but an expense to me. If the case were yours and you could derive an income from property where previously all had been outgo wouldn’t you do it?”
“But do you need that income, Mr. Coddington?” cut in one of the men. “Isn’t the Coddington Company rich? Must rich men go on getting more and more, and never think of those who coin their money for them?”
It was an unwise speech, and its effect was electrical.
“I will try and believe that you men came here with the intention of being courteous,” observed Mr. Coddington with frigid politeness. “My affairs, however, are mine and not yours. I must deal with them in the way that I consider wisest. You hardly realize, I think, that you are over-stepping the bounds of propriety when you attempt to dictate to me what I shall do with my land, or how I shall manage my tanneries.”