He had been in to see Mr. Hendricks, who
had been laid up with bronchitis, and Mr. Hendricks had predicted
a long strike.
"The irresistible force and the immovable body, son," he said.
"They'll stay set this time. And unless I miss my guess that is
playing Doyle's hand for him, all right. His chance will come when
the men have used up their savings and are growing bitter. Every
strike plays into the hands of the enemy, son, and they know it.
The moment production ceases prices go up, and soon all the money
in the world won't pay them wages enough to live on."
He had a store of homely common sense, and a gift of putting things
into few words. Willy Cameron, going back to the little house that
evening, remembered the last thing he had said.
"The only way to solve this problem of living," he said, "is to see
how much we can work, and not how little. Germany's working ten
hours a day, and producing. We're talking about six, and loafing
and fighting while we talk."
So Willy went home and called his meeting, and knowing Mrs. Boyd's
regard for figures, set down and added or subtracted, he placed a
pad and pencil on the table before him. It was an odd group: Dan
sullen, resenting the strike and the causes that had led to it;
Ellen, austere and competent; Mrs.
Pages:
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300