“The Club meets—socially, of course, and nothing to interest the Sherman Law fellows. But we sort of talk things over friendly, and somebody quotes a price on clothespins, and another fellow says that sounds like a fair price, and they talk over market conditions and go home. But they all stick to the price mentioned. The last price was up-top, and we’re all making hay. But we don’t want anything to disturb the market.” “Um!” said Jim, who was beginning to glean a hint of Mr. Welliver’s object. “Conditions are about right now. Any increase in output will—unsettle matters.” Jim remained silent. “So,” said Mr. Welliver in his most friendly way, “the Club had a little meeting—” “Part of it,” interjected Jim. “All but you,” said Mr. Welliver. “Yes, we met casually, and talked it over, and here I am to advise you against adding those extra machines.” “You’re a bit late,” said Jim. “They’re added.” “But you might find it more profitable not to operate them. More money can be made with twelve machines at present prices than with eighteen and four or five tens lopped off.” “Very possibly.” “Well?” Jim understood then. Mr. Welliver’s last observation had not been an observation at all—it had been a threat. “You mean you’ll cut prices if I go ahead?” He paused a moment. “You got together and decided the Ashe Clothespin Company had bitten off all it could chew, and this was a good time to sort of help us run our business, eh?” “We know how much you’ve put into these mills. We know your daddy built them on the strength of high prices, and we know that a drop in prices will give you something to think about.” “And your ultimatum is: Either we drop our six new machines or you drop prices. Is that the idea?” “Something very like it.” Jim got to his feet and stood over the dapper little man. He looked large in the moonlight and Mr. Welliver became uneasy in his mind. He contemplated with negligible pleasure the idea of this big young man’s losing his temper and rumpling him all up. But Jim had no such idea. “Mr. Welliver,” he said, “father gave me this business and told me to run it. He didn’t tell me to let the Club run it—and I’m not going to. You’ve come here threatening me, and somehow I don’t take to the idea of it. I know where I’m at and pretty much what I’m up against, but just the same I’m the Ashe Clothespin Company, and I’ll keep on being it as long as there’s a company. I’ll run twelve machines or eighteen or fifty, as I think it’s wise, and if the Club doesn’t like it, why the Club can be just as peevish as it wants to. I’ve never been in a good fight yet. You seem to want to get into one, and I’ll accommodate you for all I’ve got. Now, then, here’s my proposition to the Club: It can go on and run its own affairs and leave me alone—or it can start a row. You can make your choice now. What is it?” “We can’t allow you to run those extra machines.” “It’s war, then?”