Edward spoke, not merely as the elder brother, but also as the money-man of the family. When the father had broken down from over-work, and had been changed in one terrible hour from a driving man of affairs into a childish and pathetic invalid, Hal had been glad enough that there was one member of the family who was practical; he had been perfectly willing to see his brother shoulder these burdens, while he went off to college, to amuse himself with satiric songs. Hal had no responsibilities, no one asked anything of him—except that he would not throw sticks into the wheels of the machine his brother was running. “You are living by the coal industry! Every dollar you spend comes from it—”
“I know it! I know it!” cried Hal. “That's the thing that torments me! The fact that I'm living upon the bounty of such wage-slaves—”
“Oh, cut it out!” cried Edward. “That's not what I mean!”
“I know—but it's what I mean! From now on I mean to know about the people who work for me, and what sort of treatment they get. I'm no longer your kid-brother, to be put off with platitudes.”
“You know ours are union mines, Hal—”
“Yes, but what does that mean? How do we work it? Do we give the men their weights?”
“Of course! They have their check-weighmen.”
“But then, how do we compete with the operators in this district, who pay for a ton of three thousand pounds?”
“We manage it—by economy.”
“Economy? I don't see Peter Harrigan wasting anything here!” Hal paused for an answer, but none came. “Do we buy the check-weighmen? Do we bribe the labour leaders?”