CHAPTER XI
AN INCIDENT AT THE MILL
On a morning when Beth took her turn at marketing she met Mather on thestreet. "It's four days since you were at the house," she reminded him.
"Is there really any advantage in my coming often?" he asked her.
"I don't know," she answered plaintively. "But Judith has very little todo. You might ask her to visit the mill."
"Come any time. Both of you," he responded.
"I'll bring her this morning," she said quickly.
But when Mather had been another hour at the mill he forgot theengagement thus made. For in going about he noticed that the quiet inthe place was different from the bustle of ordinary days; the men seemedexpectant. Then as he passed near one of the older workmen the man spoketo him under his voice.
"Look out this morning, sir."
"The strike is coming, Ferguson?" Mather asked, at once alert.
"Yes, sir."
Mather returned to his desk in the office. He believed that the strike,if it came so soon, would be ill-planned. The day was warm; all doorsand windows were open to admit the harbour breeze; as he looked throughthe screen-door into the mill he watched one man in particular. Thoughthe fellow's station was at a window, he seemed hotter than hisneighbours: his face was flushed; he wiped his brow and moved nervously.
The stenographer rose from her desk and silently laid a slip of paperbefore Mather. On it was scrawled in pencil: "Wee will stand by you,Mister Mather. Old Hands." Mather smiled; he had but twelve out ofseventy workmen who knew what strikes and lockouts meant. Most of themen he had picked up where he could, training them himself; he had noidea how far he could trust them. Instead of giving him confidence, thenote suddenly showed how weak his backing was.
"Where did you get this, Miss Jenks?" he asked.
"I found it just now, sir, slipped in among my papers."
"Thank you," he answered, and she went back to her desk, pale andfrightened.
The workman whom Mather had been watching kept looking at the clock. Itbegan to strike eleven; at once all eyes were turned on him; all workwas suspended during the slow striking. When this ceased, the workmanleft his place and went to the door of the office; all glances followedhim, and the men who were more distant left their stations and crowdedto watch. Conscious of the stir he made, the fellow walked with aswagger, but a change came in his manner when, through the screen-door,he saw the quiet manager also eyeing him. He knocked on the door.
"Come in, Stock," said Mather.
Now the main entrance to the office was from outside, through a shortpassage. At the moment when the workman entered from the mill, Judithand Beth came into the passage; seeing Mather in apparent conferencewith an employee, they waited until he should be finished. He hadwheeled in his chair, and his back was turned to them. "Well, Stock?" hesaid.
The spokesman of the employees was a lean man, somewhat wolfish, withan eye that moved too much. He seemed a talker rather than a doer, withsomething of the actor showing as he stood by the door and folded hisarms. He spoke with an important air; no voice, Judith thought, can beimpressive if it is not clear.
"I've come to say, sir, that we're dissatisfied."
"That means," asked Mather, quietly and without rising, "that _you_ aredissatisfied?"
The man cleared his throat, but still a characteristic huskinessremained. "Yes, sir, I am."
"Very well," was the response, and the manager turned to thestenographer. "Miss Jenks, make out a bill of this man's time."
Beth clutched Judith by the sleeve and sought to draw her away. Judithstood still; not for anything would she have lost the sight of those twomen as they watched each other.
"You discharge me?" cried the workman with excitement.
"You discharged yourself," answered Mather steadily. "I can't have a manhere who is dissatisfied."
"My grievances----" began the other.
Mather cut him short. "Grievance is a word that doesn't apply. You knewthe conditions of work when you came; I have changed none of them."
"Then," cried Stock, "let me tell you from the men----"
"Stop!" ordered Mather; "no one speaks for my men who is not in myemploy."
"Just the same----" began Stock, anxiety peering from his eyes. Matherinterrupted him again.
"That will do. How much, Miss Jenks? Thanks." He took the money from hispocket and handed it to the workman. "That is correct, I think. Goodday, Stock."
The workman was visibly troubled at the turn of events. "This is mostimproper treatment," he complained. As he turned to the door at his backhe ventured a threat. "You shall see!"
"Not that door," said Mather quickly. "Remember that you are no longer aworkman here. The other way leads out of doors."
"I must get my hat," the man said, his eye now truly shifty and alarmed.For a second it met Judith's, and she felt that he glared like a trappedrat. Nevertheless, under Mather's glance he moved away from the milldoor.
"I will send for your hat," said Mather. He rose and opened the doorhimself. "Jamison, Stock is leaving us. Will you bring his hat?"
He stood at the open door and waited. Judith looked beyond him into themill, where machinery rumbled, and in great vats huge cylindersrevolved. The men stood and stared at each other, or looked at the doorand the manager standing there. Some of the men were shamefaced, someuneasy, some were smiling--and these were the older hands. The man whohad gone for the hat had reached the door on his return before any soundrose above the rumble of the machinery.
Then Judith heard a voice, high-pitched and harsh. It needed a look atStock to make sure his husky tones could become so sharp. He was craningtoward the door, sending his voice toward those farthest away.
"Now is the time," he cried, "to assert your manhood!"
Mather took out his watch. "Yes," he said, and though he did not raisehis voice Judith noted its splendid carrying power. "Now is your time,boys. Any one dissatisfied, like Stock here, can go with him. I give youthree minutes."
One of the older men laughed aloud, and standing above a vat beganraking in it, apparently, with a hooked pole. Others turned to theirwork, yet they all kept their attention on those of the younger men whostood still. Judith felt her hands grow cold, and knew her heart wasbeating faster, for half of the men had not moved. Then fingers as coldas her own took her hand, and Beth pressed up to her side. The older menstopped work again, the man above the vat stood with pole suspended, andStock gave a little dramatic laugh.
"One minute!" said Mather clearly.
The men's eyes were on him, Judith's eyes also. He was calm andperfectly confident; he had no word to say, but he seemed massive as hisown chimney, and as hard to move. His eye roved among the men, thenturned to the office, and for an instant met those of the frightenedstenographer. He gave a smile of confidence, looked at his watch, thenturned again to his men.
"A minute and a half!"
His voice seemed to ring out a challenge. Before it the men broke. Onewho stood nearest the door, smiling feebly, turned and shuffled towardhis place. He gave the signal to the others. One by one they went towork, but this time the older men last, until the man by the vat, with adisdainful sniff, plunged his pole again into the liquid. Then Stock,reaching for his hat, snatched it and almost ran from the office. In thepassage he fairly crowded Judith and Beth against the wall. Mather,turning to look after him, saw the sisters.
At once he closed the solid door into the mill, cutting out the soundsand bringing quiet. "Come in," he said to Judith. "How long have youbeen there?"
"About three minutes," she answered, entering. She looked him in theeye; he saw that she was excited, and flushed under the admirationwhich showed in her glance.
"I am sorry you ran into this," he said. "I had not expected it for afortnight."
"I am glad," she returned. "What a peaceful spot this will be for awhile. You will show us over the mill?"
"Not when this has just happened," he answered. "It would be too m
uchlike showing off the animals I had tamed. Will you excuse me?"
"I must see the office, then," she said. "Open your safe: pretend I am abank inspector, do!"
He laughed and introduced the sisters to Miss Jenks, laid out his books,opened the safe, and challenged their criticism. Judith had never beenin an office before: the excitement of what she had just seen stilldominated her. To the stenographer's eyes she was dazzling, enchanting;even Mather, though he told himself that the interest would pass, wasdeeply pleased. He showed the store-room with its stock of sheet metal,the yard, the wharf, the coal-pockets. Returning to the mill, the threeentered the office again.
"It is almost twelve," said Beth, looking at the clock.
A new interest took Judith, and she did not hear. Miss Jenks was at workat her typewriter; she realised that Judith was watchingher--critically, of course. The magnificent Miss Blanchard must be abovesuch a thing as typewriting.
But Judith was interested rather than critical as she watched the cleverfingers at their work. It did not seem hard, and it fascinated her as ateach stroke a long type-arm sprang up, reached over, and struck upon thepaper. Letters grew to words, words to lines--and a faint glow spreadover the stenographer's face as Miss Blanchard moved forward to herside and looked down at her work.
"You don't mind, do you?" asked Judith.
Miss Jenks did mind; she was nervous and almost frightened, but shestuck to her task. Judith bent lower over the machine, knitting her browas she studied its working. The regular movement of the carriage, theflashing type-arms, the flying fingers, and the result in violet print,took strong hold of her.
"There," said Miss Jenks at last, flushing deeply, "the letter is readyfor Mr. Mather's signature." She drew it from the machine and handed itto Judith.
"Is it so very hard?" asked Judith, glancing at the letter for but amoment, then fixing the stenographer with an earnest eye. "Did you haveto study long?"
"At the typewriting?" asked Miss Jenks. "No, I picked that up quickly.But shorthand is not easy at all." She took from the desk a note-bookand offered it to Judith. "Those are my notes of what Mr. Matherdictated."
The pothooks on the paper meant nothing to Judith, but she saw that theywere very few. "Is this whole letter in these signs?" she asked."Indeed! It must be hard to learn." She looked still harder at thestenographer, who blushed again under the intense scrutiny. Judith wasthinking that if this little, anaemic girl could learn shorthand, surelyshe could do so herself.
"But Judith," said Beth, interposing, "you are keeping her from herwork."
"The letters are all finished," murmured Miss Jenks, glad to turn herembarrassed eyes elsewhere.
Judith moved to the typewriter and looked down at it. Until this morningshe had never seen one except in an advertisement; its shinycomplications grew more attractive. She said nothing, but Beth smiledat Mather mischievously.
"Try it," she suggested to Judith.
"Oh, if you will!" exclaimed Miss Jenks. She slipped a sheet of paperinto place and placed the chair for Judith. "Will you not?" she invited.Judith took the seat.
"You can begin," suggested Miss Jenks, "by striking the letters one byone. You press this key----"
"For capitals; yes, I saw," Judith replied. "No, I will try to writewithout practising. To whom, Beth?"
"Tell Mr. Pease," Beth suggested, "that you approve of his manager."
So Judith wrote, dating, addressing, and beginning to explain that sheliked the mill. It--she bit her lip--was not quite so easy as it mightbe, nor--as she finished a line without mistake, and released her lipagain--so very hard after all. She became interested, forgot the others,and talked to herself.
"R--where's R? Oh, thanks. That was not hard enough; it scarcelyprinted. Now Y--here! Now the end of the line; how easily this runs.Beth, how do you spell----?"
Then they laughed at her, and she rose. "Judith, it's almost twelve,"said Beth again. "Let's get away before the workmen do."
"George," Judith said to Mather, "let me look into the mill once more."
He opened the door again. The cylinders were still turning; the men werebusy--they even looked cheerful. And but for Mather's firm hand the millmight at this moment be empty and idle! She gave him a glance of frankapproval as she turned to say good-bye. On the way home she was sosilent that Beth wondered if she were moved by what she had seen.
In fact, Judith was deeply moved. Never before had she seen such a sightas that in the office, and the qualities displayed by Mather hadimpressed her. Thus to stand up against a danger, thus to handle men--itseemed to Judith as if he had done something almost great. His coolnessand success were heroic; for the rest of the day he occupied her mind;she sat on the piazza, even at the table, with thoughts visiblyabstracted, and Beth at last became so impressed that she sought thetelephone when Judith was out of hearing, meaning to give Mather a pieceof advice. But he was no longer at the office; Miss Jenks said he hadgone to the city.
"I am very sorry," said Beth.
"So am I," sympathised Miss Jenks.
"I wanted to ask him to come up here this evening," said Beth. "You aresure I cannot get him at his hotel?"
"Very sure," replied Miss Jenks. So Beth, much disappointed, left thetelephone.
Miss Jenks could have told Beth more. When the sisters had gone from themill, the stenographer found in the typewriter a sheet which she tookout and laid silently before her employer. He looked at it for a while,then--tore it up. He had passed beyond the stage of treasuring remindersof his lady. Only the day before he had found and destroyed a littlehoard of mementos which seemed to reproach him with his lack of success.Judith, he told himself with that grimness which was a feature of hisself-control, did not exactly inspire poetic dreaming. So he destroyedthe letter, but when his day's work was over he turned reluctantly fromgoing to see her.
Miss Jenks saw his hesitation as, after putting on his hat, he stood atthe door and visibly asked himself: "Which way?" To the right led upthe hill and to Judith; to the left would bring him to his cottage;straight ahead stood a trolley-car ready to start back to the city. Thelittle stenographer would have been wise enough to send him where, atthat moment, Judith was thinking of him. But like a man he blundered.
"Hang it!" he thought, "she doesn't want to see me all the time." Hecounted up that he had seen her twice in one week; Sunday was theearliest that he could go again. Also he remembered Ellis's house-plans.So Miss Jenks, with a sense of disappointment which was both personaland unselfish, saw him board the car.
At her house Beth scratched a note to Mather; it contained only thewords: "Follow it up!" She would send it in the morning. But afterdinner Judith received a telephone message from Mrs. Harmon, asking herif she would not come over for the evening. Judith consented; it wouldbe neighbourly to go.
"Will you come?" she asked of Beth.
"Is the Judge there?" Beth inquired.
"He is in the city."
"Then I think I'll stay at home," decided Beth. She forecasted eventsexactly. Judith went, stayed most of the evening, and was escorted homeby--Ellis. "He came down," Judith vouchsafed, "after I arrived there."
Since morning Judith had been softer, gentler than usual; but now shewas lofty again, with her old manner underlaid by excitement. Beth wentsadly to her room and tore up her note to Mather.