"How do the men feel about it? Have you talked with them?" Darrell
inquired.
"There isn't one of them that's dissatisfied or would leave of his own
free will," Mr. Underwood replied, "but I don't suppose they would dare
to stand out against the bosses. Why, man, if the workingmen only knew
it, they are ten times worse slaves to the union bosses than ever they
were to corporations. They have to pay over their wages to let those
fellows live like nabobs; they have to come and go at their beck and
call, and throw up good positions and live in enforced idleness because
of some other fellows' grievances; they don't dare express an opinion or
say their souls are their own. Humph!"
"Mr. Underwood," said Darrell, who had been smilingly listening to the
other's tirade, "what will you do if this comes to a strike?"
"Strike!" he exclaimed in tones of scathing contempt. "Strike? I'll
strike too, and they'll find I can strike just as hard as they can, and
a little harder!"
"Will you close down?"
The shrewd face grew a bit shrewder. "If it's necessary to close down,"
he remarked, evasively, "I'll close down. I guess I can stand it as long
as they can. Those mines have lain there in those rocks idle for
centuries, for aught that I know; 'twon't hurt 'em to lie idle a few
weeks or months now; nobody'll run off with 'em, I guess."
Darrell laughed aloud. "Well, one thing is certain, Mr. Underwood; I,
for one, wouldn't want to quarrel with you!"
Mr. Underwood slowly shook his head. "You'd better not try it, my boy;
you'd better not!"
"When do you expect this trouble to come to a head?" Darrell asked at
length.
"Some time in the early part of July, probably; they expect to get their
arrangements completed by that time."
A long silence followed; Mrs. Dean came softly into the room and took
her accustomed seat, and, as Mr. Underwood made it a point never to talk
of business matters in his sister's presence, nothing more was said
regarding the prospective disturbance at the mines.
After dinner the beauty of the sunset brought them out upon the veranda.
The air was warm and fragrant with the breath of spring. The buds were
swelling on the lilacs near the house, and out on the lawn, beyond the
driveway, millions of tiny spears of living green trembled in the light
breeze.
"David," said Mrs. Dean, presently, "have you shown Mr. Darrell that
picture of Katherine that came yesterday?"
"I declare! No; I had forgotten it!" Mr. Underwood exclaimed.
"It's well for you she isn't here to hear you say that!" Mrs. Dean
remarked, smiling.
"Puss knows her old father well enough to know he wouldn't forget her
very long. Bring the picture out, Marcia."