Factories -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction; Love stories; Strikes and lockouts -- Fiction
“Yes. It is called for five o’clock this evening.”
“Do you think the strike would end if they gave you another week?”
“I feel morally certain it would. There is sure to be a split at
to-night’s meeting of the men. You see it is called in direct opposition
to Marsten’s wishes, and that shows he is losing whatever hold he ever
had on the strikers.”
“Then wouldn’t you be justified in saying nothing about this
communication from the shipowners until the next directors’ meeting? You
would know by that time what the result of the strikers’ meeting was.”
“My dear Edna, you make proposals that take away a man’s breath. No,
that wouldn’t do. The directors must have full information. I could
not take the responsibility of holding back anything that bore on their
interests, whatever might be the result to myself; but I can’t help
wishing the message had gone astray for a day or two.”
“I am going to the office at six o’clock to-night, father.”
Sartwell laughed, but in a mirthless, despondent manner.
“Hadn’t you better come at five and give the directors your opinion of
them? I’m sure it wouldn’t be very flattering.”
“You mustn’t make fun of me, father. The situation is very serious, and
I couldn’t bear the suspense of waiting until you came home. I must know
what happens, so please don’t forbid me. Besides, it may be your last
night there, and I should like to bring you home with me.”
“Oh, it won’t be my last night. I shall not leave the old firm like
that. I shall stay until the new manager is installed and everything
running smoothly. Even though a man is defeated, Edna, he owes it to
himself to retreat in good order, and sometimes a masterly retreat is
as good a bit of generalship as a victory. As everything is perfectly
quiet, you may come if you are anxious, as of course you are; or I could
telegraph you, if you would rather. But it is a foregone conclusion, I
am sure of that. Whenever they see this message, and learn there has
been little progress made in filling up the works, they will
succumb--and I don’t know that I can blame them. They have vast
interests at stake, and they have backed me well up to the present,
when, if it hadn’t been for me, they would have given in long ago. Then
I shall look for you at six, my dear. Take a hansom from the station,
and ask the man to wait in the yard of the works. Wait for me in my room
if I happen to be absent when you come. I shall tell the commissionaire
to look after you.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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