“The town will be owing Ryder a coat of tar and feathers presently. He'll make these fools think they've got a reason to be sore on the company.”
The men were clustered about the great open door of the works in their shirt-sleeves. From behind them, in the silence and the shadow, came the pleasant, droning sound of machinery, like the humming of a million bees. There was something dogged and reckless in the very way they stood around, with folded arms, or slouched nervously to and fro.
Dan singled out Bentick and Joe Stokes, and three or four others, as the committee, and made straight towards them.
“Well, men, what do you want?” he asked, briskly.
“We represent every department in the shops, sir,” said Bentick, civilly, “and we consider Branyon's discharge as unjust. We want him taken back.”
“And suppose I won't take him back, what are you going to do about it—eh?” asked Dan, good-naturedly, and, not waiting for a reply, with oldtime deftness he swung himself up into an empty flat-car which stood close at hand and faced his assembled workmen.
“You know why Branyon was dismissed. It was a business none of you have much reason to be proud of, but I am willing to let him come back on condition he first offers an apology to McClintock and to me. Unless he does he can never set his foot inside these doors again while I remain here. I agree to this, because I don't wish to make him a scapegoat for the rest of you, and I don't wish those dependent on him to suffer.”
He avoided looking in McClintock's direction. He felt, rather than saw, that the latter was shaking his head in strong disapproval of his course. The committee and the men exchanged grins. The boss was weakening. They had scored twice. First against Roger Oakley, and now for Branyon.
“I guess Branyon would as lief be excused from making an apology, if it's all the same to Milt,” said Bentick, less civilly than before, and there was a ripple of smothered laughter from the crowd.
Dan set his lips, and said, sternly but quietly, '“That's for him to decide.”