Part 71 (1/2)

”Mistake?” cried f.a.n.n.y, tossing her head, and staring at him proudly. ”Haven't you got any spirit, and you a man, Andrew Brewster?”

”I ain't thinking about myself,” said Andrew.

And he was quite right. Andrew, left to himself and his purely selfish interests, could have struck with the foremost. He would never have considered himself when it came to a question of a conscientious struggle against injustice, though he was so p.r.o.ne to look upon both sides of an argument that his decision would have been necessarily slow; but here was Ellen to consider, and she was more than himself. While he had been, in the depths of his heart, fiercely jealous of Robert Lloyd, yet the suspicion that his girl might suffer because of her renunciation of him hurt him to the quick. Ellen had told him all she had done in the interests of the strike, and he had no doubt that her action would effectually put an end to all possible relations between the two. He tried to imagine how a girl would feel, and being a man, and measuring all pa.s.sion by the strength of his own, he exaggerated her suffering. He could eat nothing, and looked haggard. He remained out-of-doors the greater part of the day. After he had cleared his own paths, he secured a job clearing some for a more prosperous neighbor. Andrew in those days grasped eagerly at any little job which could bring him in a few pennies. He worked until dark, and when he went home he saw with a great throb of excitement the Lloyd sleigh waiting before his door.

Robert had heard from Dennison of Ellen's att.i.tude about the strike.

He had been incredulous at first, as indeed he had been incredulous about the strike. He had looked out of the office window with the gaze of one who does not believe what he sees when he had heard that retreating tramp of the workmen on the stairs.

”What does all this mean?” he said to Dennison, who entered, pale to his lips.

”It means a strike,” replied Dennison. Nellie Stone rolled her pretty eyes around at the two men from under her fluff of blond hair. Flynn came in and stood in a curious, non-committal att.i.tude.

”A strike!” repeated Robert, vaguely. ”What for?”

It seemed incredible that he should ask, but he did. The calm masterfulness of his uncle, which could not even imagine opposition, had apparently descended upon him.

Both foremen stared at him. Nellie Stone smiled a little covertly.

”Why, you know you had a committee wait upon you last night, Mr.

Lloyd,” replied Dennison.

Flynn looked out of the window at the retreating throngs of workmen, and gave a whistle under his breath.

”Have they struck because of the wage-cutting?” asked Robert, in a curious, boyish, incredulous, aggrieved tone. Then all at once he colored violently. ”Let them strike, then!” he cried. He threw himself into a chair and took up the morning paper, with its glaring headlines about the unprecedented storm, as if nothing had happened.

Nellie Stone, after a sly wink at Flynn, which he did not return, began writing again. Flynn went out, and Dennison remained standing in a rather helpless att.i.tude. A strike in Lloyd's was unprecedented, but this manner of receiving the news was more unprecedented still. The proprietor was apparently reading the morning paper with much interest, when two more foremen, heads of other departments, came hurrying in.

”I have heard already,” said Robert, in response to their gasped information. Then he turned another page of the paper.

”What's to be done, sir?” said one of the new-comers, after a prolonged stare at his companion and Dennison. He was a spare man, with a fierce glimmer of blue eyes under bent brows.

”Let them strike if they want to,” replied Robert.

It was in his mind to explain at length to these men his reasons for cutting the wages--for his own att.i.tude as he knew it himself was entirely reasonable--but the pride of a proud family was up in him.

”The strike would never have been on, for the men went to work quietly enough, if it hadn't been for that Brewster girl,” Dennison said, presently, but rather doubtfully. He was not quite sure how the information would be received.

Robert dropped his paper, and stared at him with angry incredulity.

”What are you talking about?” he said. ”What had Miss Brewster to do with it?”

He said ”Miss Brewster” with a meaning emphasis of respect, and Dennison was quick to adopt the hint.

”Oh, nothing,” he replied, uneasily, ”only she talked with them.”

”You mean that Miss Brewster talked to the men?”

”Yes; she said a good deal yesterday, and to-day the men would not have struck if it had not been for her. It only needs a spark to set them off sometimes.”

Robert was very pale. ”Well,” he said, coolly, ”there is no need for you to remain longer, since the factory is shut down. You may as well go.”