Factories -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction; Love stories; Strikes and lockouts -- Fiction
“I will do nothing of the sort. A general does not call his army
together and explain to them what he intends to do next. I am leader of
this strike, and I am going to lead it my own way or not at all. You say
the factory is filling up, but I tell you that not a stroke of work has
been done since the strike began. All I will promise to do is to let you
know two weeks before we come to the end of our funds; then, if you do
not think we will succeed, you will have time to make what arrangements
you please, and depose me.”
“Oh, that kind of high-handed business does not do in this age. You are
not an autocrat, remember. The men have every right to demand an account
of what you are doing with them and their money.”
“When you were leader, Gibbons, they were at the end of their funds
before you let them know anything about it. There was talk enough
in those days, and precious little information went with it. I won’t
conduct a strike with my mouth, and I won’t stand any interference.”
“You are our servant, I beg you to remember, and it is no interference
when we simply ask to know what is being done and what you intend to do.
Now you will either call a meeting of the men at the Salvation Hall or
we will. Which is it to be?”
“I shall not call a meeting. If you call one, then you take the
responsibility of meddling in a matter you don’t understand. It is quite
possible that you may be able to embarrass, or perhaps defeat me; but
if you do, the time will come when the men will curse you for your
intervention. I tell you we are bound to win this strike if you keep
your hands off. Calling a meeting will merely show Sartwell that we are
getting anxious, and his whole hope is centered in a division among us.
He was frank enough to tell me so himself.”
“When did he tell you that?”
“Before the strike began.”
Gibbons looked significantly at the deputation, and one or two of the
members nodded sadly, as much as to say they wouldn’t have believed it;
but it was now only too evident, from their secretary’s own admission,
that he had secret communications with the enemy.
“I think,” said Gibbons, solemnly, “that, after what you have said,
there is all the more reason why you should call the men together, and
explain to them how you came to be discussing with Sartwell the probable
failure of the strike even before it began. You knew that was a tender
point with us long since; and if Sartwell is your enemy, as you said he
was, I can’t see for the life of me why----”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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