Half a Rogue Part 33

"My business takes me among the unions. What shall you do in the event of the strike?"

"And I have no desire to be interviewed."

"You read Mr. Warrington's letter. Perhaps, if I knew what stand you will take, I could talk to the men myself. I have averted three or four strikes in my time, simply because the boys know that I always speak the truth, the plain truth. In this case I feel that you have the right on your side. You haven't said anything yet. The union is practically trying to bluff you into coming to its terms: the discharge of the inventor, or a strike."

"Are you representing the union?"

"I am representing n.o.body but myself."

"I may tell you, then, that I shall not discharge the inventor. Nor will I, if the men go out, take a single one of them back."

"The men will not believe that. They never do. They've been so successful in Pennsylvania that they are attempting to repeat that success all over the Country. They have grown pig-headed. I feel sorry for the poor devils, who never realize when they are well off."

"I feel sorry, too, Mr. Jordan," said Bennington. He played a tattoo on his strong white teeth with his pencil. "Mr. Warrington seems to know you well."

"We began on the Journal together. You will not tell me what your plan is, then?"

"I'd rather not, for honestly, I can not see how it would better the case."

"It might be worth while to give me a chance."

Bennington re-read Warrington's note. Then he studied the frank blue eyes of the reporter.

"Miss Ward, you may go," he said to the stenographer. "Now,"--when the girl had gone,--"you will give me your word?"

"It's all I have."

"How can you convince the men without telling them?"

"Oh, I meant that whatever you tell me shall not see light in the papers till I have your permission. There's a weekly meeting to-night.

They will decide finally at this meeting. To-morrow will be too late."

Bennington was an accurate judge of men. He felt that he could trust this shock-headed journalist. If without any loss of self-respect, if without receding a single step from his position, he could avert the crash, he would gladly do so. He had reached one determination, and nothing on earth would swerve him. So he told Ben just exactly what would happen if the men went out. Ben did not doubt him for a moment.

He, too, was something of a judge of men. This man would never back down.

"I give you this to show them, if your arguments do not prevail,"

concluded Bennington, producing a folded paper. "They will hardly doubt this."

Ben opened it. It was a permit from the munic.i.p.al government to tear down a brick structure within the city limits. Ben stowed the permit in his pocket. He looked with admiration at the man who could plan, coolly and quietly, the destruction of a fortune that had taken a quarter of a century to build. He was grave. There was a big responsibility pressing on his shoulders.

"Much obliged. You will never regret the confidence you repose in me.

Now I'll tell you something on my side. It is not the inventor, though the men believe it is. The inventor is a pretext of Morrissy, the union leader."

"A pretext?"

"I can't prove what I say, that's the trouble; but McQuade has his hand in this. I wish to Heaven I could find solid proofs."

"McQuade?" Bennington scowled. He could readily understand now.

McQuade! This was McQuade's revenge. He could wait patiently all this while!

"I'll do what I can, Mr. Bennington; I'll do what I can."

Bennington ate no lunch that noon. Instead, he wandered about the great smoky shops, sweeping his glance over the blast-furnaces, the gutters into which the molten ore was poured, the giant trip-hammers, the ponderous rolling-machines, the gas-furnaces for tempering fine steel. The men moved aside. Only here and there a man, grown old in the shops, touched his grimy cap. ... To tear it down! It would be like rending a limb, for he loved every brick and stone and girder, as his father before him had loved them. He squared his shoulders, and his jaws hardened. No man, without justice on his side, should dictate to him; no man should order him to hire this man or discharge that one. He alone had that right; he alone was master. Bennington was not a coward; he would not sell to another; he would not s.h.i.+rk the task laid out for his hand. Unionism, such as it stood, must receive a violent lesson. And McQuade?

"d.a.m.n him!" he muttered, his fingers knotting.

Education subdues or obliterates the best of fighting in the coward only. The brave man is always masculine in these crises, and he will fight with his bare hands when reason and intelligence fail. A great longing rose up in Bennington's heart to have it out physically with McQuade. To feel that gross bulk under his knees, to sink his fingers into that brawny throat!--The men, eying him covertly, saw his arms go outward and his hands open and shut convulsively. More than ever they avoided his path. Once before they had witnessed a similar abstraction. They had seen him fling to the ground a huge puddler who had struck his apprentice without cause. The puddler, one of the strongest men in the shops, struggled to his feet and rushed at his a.s.sailant. Bennington had knocked him down again, and this time the puddler remained on the ground, insensible. Bennington had gone back to his office, shutting and opening his fists. Ay, they had long since ceased calling him the dude. The man of brawn has a hearty respect for spectacular exhibitions of strength.

One o'clock. The trip-hammers began their intermittent thunder, the rolling-machines shrieked, and the hot ore sputtered and crackled.

Bennington returned to his office and re-read the letter his father had written to him on his death-bed. He would obey it to the final line.

That particular branch of the local unions which was represented in the Bennington steel-mills met in the loft of one of the brick buildings off the main street. The room was s.p.a.cious, but ill ventilated. That, night it was crowded. The men were noisy, and a haze of rank tobacco-smoke drifted aimlessly about, vainly seeking egress.

Morrissy called the meeting to order at eight-thirty. He spoke briefly of the injustice of the employers, locally and elsewhere, of the burdens the laboring man had always borne and would always bear, so long as he declined to demand his rights. The men cheered him. Many had been drinking freely. Morrissy stated the case against Bennington.

He used his words adroitly and spoke with the air of a man who regrets exceedingly a disagreeable duty.

From his seat in the rear Jordan watched him, following each word closely. He saw that Morrissy knew his business thoroughly.

"We'll get what we want, men; we always do. It isn't a matter of money; it's principle. If we back down, we are lost; if we surrender this time, we'll have to surrender one thing at a time till we're away back where we started from, slaves to enrich the oppressor. We've got to fight for our rights. Here's an inventor who, if we permit him to remain, will succeed in throwing two hundred men out of work.

Bennington is making enough money as things are now. There's no need of improvement, such as will take bread and b.u.t.ter out of our mouths, out of the mouths of our wives and children. We've got to strike.

That'll bring him to his senses."

At the conclusion he was loudly applauded.

Jordan stood up and waited till the noise had fully subsided.

Everybody knew him. They had seen him stand up before, and he always said something worth listening to.

"You all know me, boys," he began.

"You bet!"

"You're all right!"

"Speech! Go ahead!"

Jordan caught Morrissy's eye. Morrissy nodded with bad grace. Jordan spoke for half an hour. He repeated word for word what Bennington had told him. In the end he was greeted with laughter.

"Very well, boys," he said, shrugging. "It's none of my business.

You've never caught me lying yet. You don't know this man Bennington.

I believe I do. He'll make good his threat. Wait and see."

"How much were you paid to attend this meeting?" demanded Morrissy, sneering.

"A good deal less than you were, Mr. Morrissy." There was a dangerous flush on Ben's cheeks, but the smoke was so dense that Morrissy failed to observe it. The men laughed again, accepting Ben's retort as a piece of banter. Ben went on doggedly: "I have in my pocket a permit to tear down the shops. Bennington gave it to me to produce. Look at it, if you doubt my word. There it is."

The men pa.s.sed it along the aisles. It came back presently, much the worse for the wear. Some of the older men looked exceedingly grave, but they were in the minority.

"Anybody can get a permit to tear down his property," said Morrissy scornfully. "It's a big bluff, men. What! tear down the golden goose?

Not in a thousand years! It's a plain bluff. And I'm sorry to see a decent man like our newspaper friend on the enemy's side."