Life — October 17, 1907 — page 30: what you’re looking at

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and should refuse absolutely to deal with the men as an organization. The secretary announced Mr. Simpson, who was the general manager of the steamship com- pany and upon whom devolved the details of dealing with the strikers. As he entered, Doe began, for perhaps the fiftieth time since the strike started, to deliver a curtain lecture on labor questions in general and upon his own im- mediate labor question in particular, When Simpson had finished his daily report and was about to go, Doe put on his hat and said that he would walk around with him, as he had to take the 10.50 train for Woodbine. When they reached: the street, Doe continued to discuss the situation. “Now, take my place down at Woodbine,” he said. “I’ve never had a bit of trouble down there, and I’ve had a lot of visits from reformers, too, about child-labor and other nonsense like that. It cost me a lot of moncy to defeat a child- labor bill in the Legislature last winter, but I de- feated it, you bet. You know I employ about twelve hundred children. That child-labor talk is another fool idea. As if a child wasn’t a good deal better inside doing something useful instead of running the streets getting into mischief. And besides, modern machinery absolutely requires child-labor. It is nonsense to talk about getting men for what boys can do.” As it was a beautiful day, they strolled along leisurel, in the wet siege of unseasonable weather. one of those most welcome sunny days late spring following an unusually long, When they reached the Battery, they even yielded to an im- pulse to forget momentarily their material affairs and admire the luxuriant foliage that rustled in the balmlike breeze that blew up from the harbor. When they reached the steamship office, Doe found that he had only five minutes to reach his ferry slip, three blocks aw While he was giv- ing Simpson a few parting words of advice, one of the clerks rushed down and said that his secre- tary would like to speak with him over the ’phone about some labor troubles at Woodbine. Doe could not believe his ears. ‘Labor troubles at Woodbine!” he repeated, in consternation. “Must be some mistake. Well, anyway, I can’t talk to him. Tell him I’ve gone to Woodbine,” and off he started double quick, as if the catching of the 10.50 was a case of life and death. “What in the world has happened?” he que- ried of himself, helplessly, when he had safely reached the ferryboat and resigned himself to the forty-five impotent minutes before him. “Must be some mistake, or else it’s that new manager, Reynolds. I don’t take much stock in that fel- low, anyway. He’s too namby-pamby, too con- siderate. But I don’t suppose it’s much, what- ever it is, or I would have heard of it before this. T'll go down there and fix ’em. That’s what I’ll do. I'll nip it in the bud, as sure as my name is John Doe. I know how to deal with those agi- tators.” And so, as he rode along, he was completely absorbed by his thoughts. He did not know or care whether it was winter or summer, rain or snow, sunshine or clouds. He only knew that a battle was on—that he, the general, was miles away and that the 10.50 express seemed inter- minably slow. But, on alighting from the train, the beauties of nature again intruded themselves upon his con- sciousness and forced from him something like a sigh as he straightened himself from the cramped sitting posture of the coach. The fresh, fragrant air tasted good. Doe had been born and reared upon a fertile farm in northern Indiana. He knew the delights of the countryside, and, though his business had forced him, many years before, to move to New York and kept him there with little respite, he had never become thoroughly reconciled to what he called the artificialities of that great cosmopolitan, commercial and finan- cial center. The fair face of naturally beautiful Woodbine had, to be sure, also been sadly blotched by great rows of angular, inartistic and unsightly factory buildings, but it was nevertheless as a breath from heaven in contrast to the gusty, dusty cafions of the metropolis. It was but three or four minutes’ walk from the station to the office, and he covered the dis- tance briskly. He found Reynolds in earnest conversation with two heads of departments, and lost no time in beginning his catechism. “What's this I hear about labor difficulties, Reynolds?” he inquired. “You don’t mean to tell me that you have been having trouble, too.” “Didn’t you get my message, sir?” replied Reynolds, somewhat at a loss how to present the matter. “Yes, no. I guess not. I got only part of it. What's the matter? Anything serious?” “Well, sir, I was waited on by a committee from the workmen this morning, and they de- mand that we close down at noon to-day.” “Close down at noon? Preposterous! What’s that for? We'll do nothing of the kind,” ex- claimed Doe. “That’s what I told them, sir,” replied Rey- nolds. “The trouble is that there’s a circus in town, and the kids want to attend it.” Doe was somewhat relieved to find out that it was no worse, but none the less emphatic in his attitude against the outrage, as he termed it. “When did you first find it out? Why didn’t you nip it in the bud?” he demanded, hotly. “These labor unions are trying to run the coun- try. You should have notified me at once.” “T knew nothing about it at all until shortly after ten, sir,” replied Reynolds, meekly. “T called you up by ’phone as soon as I heard about it, only to find that you had just left. Of course, it isn’t as serious as it might be, but we are away back in our orders now and we need every minute.” “How did you find it out?” inquired Doe. “I was waited on by a committee of three.” At the word ‘‘committee” Doe lost all control of himself. He began to pace the floor and fume with rage, almost snorting with the anger of a bull before a red flag. “Committee, eh? I'll committee them. I'll fire every one of them. We'll see if a man can’t run his business to suit himself. Things have come to a pretty pass, what with agitators and reformers. I'll fire every detective in the place, too. They’re not worth their salt. You should have had nothing to do with any committee. What did you tell them?” “T told them substantially what you have just 9 said,” replied Reynolds, diplomatically. “And I told them, furthermore, that this was a bad time to shut down as we were behind with our orders.” “You told them too damn much,” thundered Doe. ‘You're too considerate. You let the men run over you. Don’t ever let me hear of your receiving committees again, We'll run our busi- ness to suit ourselves. Then what happened?” “Well, sir, they seemed sort of disappointed and, when they went away, said I would hear from them again as soon as a vote was taken.” “T like that,” broke in Doe with undiminished testiness. “Taking a vote in my shop. Of all the impertinence I ever heard of. Hear from them further, will we? That’s labor arrogance for you. That’s what maudlin sentiment is bringing usto.”” While Doe continued to hurl his imprecations at the absent committee, Reynolds remained standing, nervously chewing the end of his pencil and shifting from one foot to the other. The two heads of departments were motionless ani expressionless. Doe had begun to subside from sheer exhaus- tion, when one of the clerks from the outer office announced that the committee was there and would like to speak with Mr. Reynolds. Where- upon Deesbroke out afresh. “Tell ’em to be gone,” he roared. “T happen to know,” ventured the clerk hum- bly, “that they have voted to strike at twelve- thirty unless we close down the shops.” “Well, you happen to know too much, young man,” thundered Doe. “Pay them off and tell them never to come around here again. There'll be no strike and that’s settled. Tell ’em to get out of here double quick. No, send ’em into my private office. I'll handle this business myseli. Tl talk to ’em in a way they'll understand. Send ’em into my private office. I'll settle this strike business.” Doe had barely seated himself when there stood before him three begrimed boys in overalls ranging in age from twelve to fifteen years. They stopped just inside the door, cap in hand, the oldest boy, evidently the spokesman, a little in advance of his fellows, and waited for Doe to address them. Doe did not speak at once. The volley of anathema for which he felt himself fully prepared struggled vainly for utterance. The realization was bome in upon him that he was the victim of a psychological metamorphosis. In the presence of grown men a few moments before his vol bility knew no bounds. In the presence of thes boys he was speechless. Imprecation and anatl) ema seemed strangely inappropriate to the situa- tion which had developed. The private office in which they were gathere‘! looked out on the main street of Woodbine ‘There were two windows in the front and one at the side. Doe rose from his chair and stood for « moment looking out at one of the front windows In the street below were many people in gals attire. It was circus day, sure enough. In the branches of a tree, which shaded the window, flock of birds were frolicking and singing as if they, too, were conscious of a special occasion. Doe returned to his chair and sat down. “So you are the committee, are you?” he said, finally, in a voice that was stern but not harsh. Continued on page 468 ose quon wopaesooeey ye JOUdId “N eLiqemosny preurery eaeamseeynueyK comicbooks.com yoozaad B UdaTp yng ‘uoOTZONAZsUOD ABD AZ[NeF OF | a is a anaes qANUosAyD “X NI COWTWWAANY ANVdWOD