“Be that as it may, sir,” said Erb, flattered, “we needn’t go into hypo—hypo—”
“Hypothetical?”
“Thank you, sir. We needn’t go into that part of the question at present. But it’s only fair to warn you that when I go back to the men and tell them that their very reasonable applications have been one and all refused, and refused, if I may say so, with ignominy, then there’ll be such an outbreak. Mind you, sir, I’m not blaming you; I only talk to you in this way, because ’ere’s me representing labour on this side of the table, and there’s you on the other side of the table representing capital.”
“Labour,” remarked the Chief, trying to make a tent of three pen holders, “is to be congratulated.”
“Therefore, not wishing to take up your time any longer, I should like to conclude by remarking in the language of one of our poets of old, who remarks—”
“No, no,” protested the Chief gently, “don’t let us drag in the poets. They were all very well in their way, but really you know, not railway men. Not one of them. What I want you to tell the others is that if I had the power of deciding on this matter, likely enough I should give them everything they ask. But above me, Barnes, above me is the Superintendent, above the Superintendent is the General Manager, above the General Manager are the Directors, and above the Directors are the Shareholders.”
“And all of you a stamping down on poor us.”
“To a certain extent,” admitted the Chief, in his friendly way, “but only to a certain extent. What they want, what I want, is that everything should go on smoothly.”
“To come to the point,” suggested Erb. “I take it that you answer this application, sir, in the negative. I take it that I’m to go back to the men and say to them, ‘All my efforts on your behalf have been fruitless.’”
“Your efforts?”