Rupert recovered himself and made a tolerable show of hauteur; he wasn’t the small boy in the apple orchard but a very grand gentleman making his pained protest at her intrusion. “Mary!” he began. “No, not now, Rupert,” she checked him. “I’m here to watch. I told Mr. Bradshaw and he is here to speak.” To watch, she did not add, with desperately anxious eyes the effect upon him both of her summons to Tom and of what Tom had to say. She thought she had saved Hep-plestall’s, she thought Tom had a medicine that would cure them of their wish to sell, but had she saved Rupert? That was her larger question and she saw no answer to it yet. She was there to watch and pray. “Well,” said Tom, “that’s a good opening. As she says, Lady Hepplestall told me what you’re up to and we’re saved the trouble of bluffing round the point. You’re out to sell Hepplestall’s; I’m here to stop you.” “The devil you are,” cried Rupert. Tom turned to William. “Does Sir Rupert know I’m secretary of the Spinners’ Union?” he asked. “Indeed?” said Rupert. “And what business may this be of the Spinners’ Union, or any other Union?” “Vital business,” said Tom, “of theirs and every other cotton trade Union. I’m usually asked to sit down in this office, Mr. Hepplestall.” “You are usually asked to come into it, Mr. Bradshaw. You have hardly asked to-day,” said William. “Please yourself,” said Tom. “I’ve been sitting a long while in the train. I can stand, only I’ve a bad habit of making speeches when I’m on my feet and I’d as lief have had this friendly.” It surprised and annoyed Rupert that William pointed to a chair with an “If you please, Mr. Bradshaw.” Himself, he would have kicked the confounded fellow into the street and when he had gone it would have been Mary’s turn for--not for kicking, certainly, but for something severe in the way of disciplinary measures. “Friendly!” he scoffed. “What you might call a benevolent enemy, Sir Rupert,” said Tom. “If I weren’t benevolent, I’d have gone into Staithley streets and cried it aloud that Hepplestall’s was being sold to Londoners, and I’d have watched the hornets sting you. But, being benevolent, I’d rather you didn’t get stung, and I’m here till I get your assurance that all thought of a sale is off.” “That means you’re making quite a long stay with us, Mr. Bradshaw,” said Rupert elaborately. “I wonder how much you know of the Staithley folk, Sir Rupert,” said Tom. “They’re fighting stock. You maybe know there’s a likely chance of things coming to a big strike in the cotton trade on the wages question, but that’s not just yet and if you don’t watch it there’ll be an urgency strike in Staithley that might begin to-night. One of these wicked strikes you read about. Without notice.” “But you... Mr. Bradshaw, you’re the chief Union official.”