“I came in to see what you meant by this, Ryder,” his caller said, and he held out the paper folded to the insulting article. Ryder assumed to examine it carefully, but he knew every word there.
“Oh, this? Oh yes! The story of the reduction in wages down at the car-shops. There! You can take it from under my nose; I can see quite clearly.”
“Well?”
“Well,” repeated Ryder after him, with exasperating composure. The editor was no stranger to intrusions of this sort, for his sarcasms were frequently personal. His manner varied to suit each individual case. When the wronged party stormed into the office, wrathful and loud-lunged, he was generally willing to make prompt reparation, especially if his visitor had the advantage of physical preponderance on his side. When, however, the caller was uncertain and palpably in awe of him, as sometimes happened, he got no sort of satisfaction. With Oakley he pursued a middle course.
“Well?” he repeated.
“What do you mean by this?”
“I think it speaks for itself, don't you?”
“I went into this matter with you, and you know as well as I do why the men are cut. This,” striking the paper contemptuously with his open hand, “is the worst sort of rubbish, but it may serve to make the men feel that they are being wronged, and it is an attack on me.”
“Did you notice that? I didn't know but it was too subtle for you.”
He couldn't resist the gibe at Oakley's expense.