But something more fundamental brought matters to a head. Lacking that, Rod would probably have ended by complete indifference to what Grove and his friends did or said. The _Kowloon_ was due to leave Monday afternoon. At ten in the morning, Rod sat reading in the library. Phil was writing letters at a desk in one corner. Norquay senior was walking in the grounds with Mary. From his seat Rod could see the tall tweed-clad figure sauntering beside his wife. His ill-humor vanished. That was answer enough to Grove and his clique. He glanced indifferently up at Grove's entrance. That gentleman didn't seem so gay and festive this morning. He bit off a cigar end with unnecessary force and sat smoking. He scowled. His eyes were a trifle glassy, the lids reddened. Faint shadows showed beneath the lower lids. "The morning after the night before sits heavier on him than it used to," Rod thought cynically. "The pace is beginning to tell. Damn fool." He resumed his reading. The butler came in. "The foreman of the Valdez camp and two men want to see you, sir," he addressed Phil. "Send 'em here," Phil replied, without looking up. Rod continued to read. There was nothing unusual in men from the camps coming to Hawk's Nest with complaints or for instructions. Disputes between men and logging bosses had been threshed out times without number in that pleasant, book-lined room. The Norquay policy had always been patriarchal. Stagg ushered in Jim Handy and two men. One was Andy Hall. He nodded to Rod with a genial grin. Handy looked fretful. His short, white mustache stood out at the aggressive angle it always took when things went wrong. All three had shed their calked boots and working garments. They wore their town clothes. Above clean white collars their faces were burned to the brown of weathered oak by summer sun and hot winds. "I got a strike on my hands," Handy announced to Phil. "They want fifty cents a day raise all round. They want bathtubs. I expect maybe they want regular hotel waiters to sling hash for 'em, too," Handy permitted himself a logger's witticism. "These two guys represent the crew." Phil turned to the loggers. "Striking is rather a new kink in the logging business," he said casually. "If you don't like the job, why don't you quit?" "Quitting wouldn't change things," Andy Hall replied. "You want to get out timber because it is profitable. We want to work because we have to work for somebody. But we would like better working conditions. Seems more reasonable to ask for 'em on the job than to quit the job." "Are you two a self-appointed committee?" Phil inquired. "No," Hall assured him. "We were picked by the crowd to act as spokesmen. A hundred and forty men can't all talk to a boss at once. You can take it for granted we speak for the entire crew."