GATHERING CLOUDS
On the Rectory lawn a hard-fought game had just finished, bringing to
a conclusion a lengthened series of contests which had extended over a
whole week, in which series Patricia, with her devoted cavalier, Victor
Forsythe, had been forced to accept defeat at the hands of her sister
and her partner, Hugh Maynard.
“Partner, you were wonderful in that last set!” said Patricia, as they
moved off together to offer their congratulations to their conquerors.
“Patsy,” said her partner, in a low voice, “as ever, you are superb in
defeat as in victory. Superb, unapproachable, wonderful.”
“Anything else, Vic?” inquired Patsy, grinning at the youth.
“Oh, a whole lot more, Pat, if you only give me a chance to tell you.”
“No time just now,” cried Patricia as she reached the others. “Well, you
two deserved to win. You played ripping tennis,” she continued, offering
Hugh her hand.
“So did you, Pat. You were at the very top of your form.”
“Well, some other day,” said Vic. “I think we are improving a bit,
partner. A little more close harmony will do the trick.”
“Come away, children,” said Mrs. Templeton, calling to them from the
shade at the side of the courts. “You must be very tired and done out.
Why, how hot you look, Patricia.”
“Stunning, I should say!” murmured Vic, looking at her with adoring
eyes.
And a truly wonderful picture the girl made, in her dainty muslin
frock, her bold red hair tossed in a splendid aureole about her face.
Care-free, heart-free, as she flashed from her hearty blue eyes her
saucy and bewitching glances at her partner's face, her mother sighed,
thinking that her baby girl was swiftly slipping away from her and
forever into that wider world of womanhood where others would claim her.
In lovely contrast stood her sister, dressed in flannel skirt and
sweater of old gold silk, fair, tall, beautiful, a delicate grace in
every line of her body and a proud, yet gentle strength in every
feature of her face. There dwelt in her deep blue eyes a look of hidden,
mysterious power which had wrought in her mother a certain fear of her
eldest daughter. The mother never quite knew what to expect from Adrien.
Yet, for all, she carried an assured confidence that whatever she might
do, her daughter never would shame the high traditions of her race.
The long shadows from the tall elms lay across the velvet sward of the
Rectory lawn. The heat of the early June day had given place to the cool
air of the evening. The exquisitely delicate colouring from the setting
sun flooded the sky overhead and deepened into blues and purples behind
the elms and the church spire. A deep peace had fallen upon the world
except that from the topmost bough of the tallest elm tree a robin sang,
pouring his very heart out in a song of joyous optimism.
The little group, disposed upon the lawn according to their various
desires, stood and sat looking up at the brave little songster.
“How happy he is,” said Mrs. Templeton, a wistful cadence of sadness in
her voice.
“I wonder if he is, Mamma. Perhaps he is only pretending,” said Adrien.
“Cheerio, old chap!” cried Vic, waving his hand at the gallant little
songster. “You are a regular grouch killer.”
“He has no troubles,” said Mrs. Templeton, with a sigh.
“I wonder, Mamma. Or is he just bluffing us all?”
“He has no strike, at any rate, to worry him,” said Patricia, “and,
by the way, what is the news to-day? Does anybody know? Is there any
change?”
“Oh,” cried Vic, “there has been a most exciting morning at the E. D.
C.--the Employers' Defence Committee,” he explained, in answer to Mrs.
Templeton's mystified look.
“Do go on!” cried Patricia impatiently. “Was there a fight? They are
always having one.”
“Of course there was the usual morning scrap, but with a variation
to-day of a deputation from the brethren of the Ministerial Association.
But, of course, Mrs. Templeton, the Doctor must have told you already.”
“I hardly ever see him these days. He is dreadfully occupied. There is
so much trouble, sickness and that sort of thing. Oh, it is all terribly
sad. The Doctor is almost worn out.”
“He made a wonderful speech to the magnates, my governor says.”
“Oh, go on, Vic!” cried Patricia. “Why do you stop? You are so
deliberate.”
“I was thinking of that speech,” replied Victor more quietly than was
his wont. “It came at a most dramatic moment. The governor was quite
worked up over it and gave me a full account. They had just got all
their reports in--'all safe along the Potomac'--no break in the front
line--Building Industries slightly shaky due to working men's groups
taking on small contracts, which excited great wrath and which McGinnis
declared must be stopped.”
“How can they stop them? This is a free country,” said Adrien.
“Aha!” cried Victor. “Little you know of the resources of the E. D. C.
It is proposed that the supply dealers should refuse supplies to all
builders until the strike is settled. No more lumber, lime, cement,
etc., etc.”
“Boycott, eh? I call that pretty rotten,” said Adrien.
“The majority were pretty much for it, however, except Maitland and my
governor, they protesting that this boycott was hardly playing the game.
Your friend Captain Jack came in for his licks,” continued Vic, turning
to Patricia. “It appears he has been employing strikers in some work
or other, which some of the brethren considered to be not according to
Hoyle.”
“Nonsense!” cried Patricia indignantly. “Jack took me yesterday to see
the work. He showed me all the plans and we went over the grounds. It is
a most splendid thing, Mamma! He is laying out athletic grounds for his
men, with a club house and all that sort of thing. They are going to be
perfectly splendid! Do you mean to say they were blaming him for this?
Who was?” And Patricia stood ready for battle.
“Kamerad!” cried Vic, holding up his hands. “Not me! However, Jack was
exonerated, for it appears he sent them a letter two weeks ago,
telling them what he proposed to do, to which letter they had raised no
objection.”
“Well, what then?” inquired Patricia.
“Oh, the usual thing. They all resolved to stand pat--no surrender--or,
rather, let the whole line advance--you know the stuff--when into
this warlike atmosphere walked the deputation from the Ministerial
Association. It gave the E. D. C. a slight shock, so my Dad says. The
Doctor fired the first gun. My governor says that it was like a breath
from another world. His face was enough. Everybody felt mean for just
being what they were. I know exactly what that is, for I know the way he
makes me feel when I look at him in church. You know what I mean, Pat.”
“I know,” said Patricia softly, letting her hand fall upon her mother's
shoulder.
“Well,” continued Vic, “the Doctor just talked to them as if they were
his children. They hadn't been very good and he was sorry for them.
He would like to help them to be better. The other side, too, had been
doing wrong, and they were having a bad time. They were suffering, and
as he went on to tell them in that wonderful voice of his about the
women and children, every man in the room, so the governor said, was
wondering how much he had in his pocket. And then he told them of how
wicked it was for men whose sons had died together in France to be
fighting each other here in Canada. Well, you know my governor. As he
told me this tale, we just both of us bowed our heads and wept. It's the
truth, so help me, just as you are doing now, Pat.”
“I am not,” cried Patricia indignantly. “And I don't care if I am. He is
a dear and those men are just--”
“Hush, dear,” said Mrs. Templeton gently. “And did they agree to
anything?”
“Alas, not they, for at that moment some old Johnny began asking
questions and then that old fire-eater, McGinnis, horned in again. No
Arbitration Committee for him--no one could come into his foundry and
tell him how to run his business--same old stuff, you know. Well, then,
the Methodist Johnny took a hand. What's his name? Haynes, isn't it?”
“Yes, Haynes,” said Hugh Maynard.
“Well, Brother Haynes took up the tale. He is an eloquent chap, all
right. He took the line 'As you are strong, be pitiful,' but the
psychological moment had gone and the line still held strong. Campbell
of the woollen mills invited him up to view his $25,000.00 stock 'all
dressed up and nowhere to go.' 'Tell me how I can pay increased wages
with this stock on my hands.' And echo answered 'How?' Haynes could not.
Then my old chief took a hand--the Reverend Murdo Matheson. He is a good
old scout, a Padre, you know--regular fire-eater--a rasping voice and
grey matter oozing from his pores. My governor says he abandoned the
frontal attack and took them on the flank. Opened up with a dose of
economics that made them sit up. And when he got through on this line,
he made every man feel that it was entirely due to the courtesy and
forbearance of the union that he was allowed to carry on business at
all. He spiked Brother McGinnis's guns by informing him that if he
was harbouring the idea that he owned a foundry all on his own, he was
labouring under a hallucination. All he owned was a heap of brick and
mortar and some iron and steel junk arranged in some peculiar way. In
fact, there was no foundry there till the workmen came in and started
the wheels going round. Old McGinnis sat gasping like a chicken with
the pip. Then the Padre turned on the 'Liberty of the subject' stop as
follows: 'Mr. McGinnis insists upon liberty to run his foundry as he
likes; insists upon perfect freedom of action. There is no such thing
as perfect freedom of action in modern civilisation. For instance, Mr.
McGinnis rushing to catch a train, hurls his Hudson Six gaily down Main
Street thirty miles an hour, on the left-hand side of the street. A
speed cop sidles up, whispers a sweet something in his ear, hails him
ignominiously into court and invites him to contribute to the support
of the democracy fifty little iron men as an evidence of his devotion
to the sacred principle of personal liberty. In short, there is no such
thing as personal liberty in this burg, unless it is too late for the
cop to see.' The governor says McGinnis's face afforded a perfect study
in emotions. I should have liked to have seen it. The Padre never took
his foot off the accelerator. He took them all for an excursion
along the 'Responsibility' line: personal responsibility, mutual
responsibility, community responsibility and every responsibility known
to the modern mind. And then when he had them eating out of his hand,
he offered them two alternatives: an Arbitration Committee as formerly
proposed, or a Conciliation Board under the Lemieux Act. My governor
says it was a great speech. He had 'em all jumping through the hoops.”
“What DO you mean, Vic?” lamented Mrs. Templeton. “I have only the very
vaguest idea of what you have been saying all this time.”
“So sorry, Mrs. Templeton. What I mean is the Padre delivered a most
effective speech.”
“And did they settle anything?” inquired Patricia.
“I regret to say, Patricia, that your friend Rupert--”
“My friend, indeed!” cried Patricia.
“Who comforts you with bonbons,” continued Vic, ignoring her words,
“and stays you with joy rides, interposed at this second psychological
crisis. He very cleverly moves a vote of thanks, bows out the
deputation, thanking them for their touching addresses, and promising
consideration. Thereupon, as the door closed, he proceeded to sound
the alarm once more, collected the scattered forces, flung the gage
of battle in the teeth of the enemy, dared them to do their worst, and
there you are.”
“And nothing done?” cried Adrien. “What a shame.”
“What I cannot understand is,” said Hugh, “why the unions do not invoke
the Lemieux Act?”
“Aha!” said Vic. “Why? The same question rose to my lips.”
“The Lemieux Act?” inquired Mrs. Templeton.
“Yes. You know, Mrs. Templeton, either party in dispute can ask for a
Board of Conciliation, not Arbitration, you understand. This Board has
power to investigate--bring out all the facts--and failing to effect
conciliation, makes public its decision in the case, leaving both
parties at the bar of public opinion.”
“But I cannot understand why the unions do not ask for this Conciliation
Board.”
“I fear, Hugh,” said Victor in an awed and solemn voice, “that there is
an Ethiopian in the coal bin.”
“What DOES he mean, Patricia?”
“He means that there is something very dark and mysterious, Mamma.”
“So there is,” said Hugh. “The unions will take an Arbitration
Committee, which the employers decline to give, but they will not ask
for a Conciliation Board.”
“My governor says it's a bluff,” said Vic. “The unions know quite
well that McGinnis et hoc genus omne will have nothing to do with an
Arbitration Committee. Hence they are all for an Arbitration Committee.
On the other hand, neither the unions nor McGinnis are greatly in love
with the prying methods of the Conciliation Board, and hence reject the
aid of the Lemieux Act.”
“But why should they all be dominated by a man like McGinnis?” demanded
Adrien. “Why doesn't some employer demand a Conciliation Board? He can
get it, you know.”
“They naturally stand together,” said Hugh.
“But they won't long. Maitland declares that he will take either board,
and that if the committee cannot agree which to choose, he will withdraw
and make terms on his own. He furthermore gave them warning that if any
strike-breakers were employed, of which he had heard rumours, he would
have nothing to do with the bunch.”
“Strike-breakers?” said Adrien. “That would certainly mean serious
trouble.”
“Indeed, you are jolly well right,” said Vic. “We will all be in it
then. Civic guard! Special police! 'Shun! Fix bayonets! Prepare for
cavalry! Eh?”
“Oh, how terrible it all is,” said Mrs. Templeton.
“Nonsense, Vic,” said Hugh. “Don't listen to him, Mrs. Templeton. We
will have nothing of that sort.”
“Well, it is all very sad,” said Mrs. Templeton. “But here is Rupert. He
will give us the latest.”
But Rupert appeared unwilling to talk about the meeting of the morning.
He was quite certain, however, that the strike was about to break. He
had inside information that the resources of the unions were almost
exhausted. The employers were tightening up all along the line, credits
were being refused at the stores, the unions were torn with dissension,
the end was at hand.
“It would be a great mercy if it would end soon,” said Mrs. Templeton.
“It is a sad pity that these poor people are so misguided.”
“It is a cruel shame, Mrs. Templeton,” said Rupert indignantly. “I have
it from scores of them that they didn't want to strike at all. They were
getting good wages--the wage scale has gone up steadily during the war
to the present extravagant height.”
“The cost of living has gone up much more rapidly, I believe,” said
Adrien. “The men are working ten hours a day, the conditions under which
they labour are in some cases deplorable; that McGinnis foundry is a
ghastly place, terribly unhealthy; the girls in many of the factories
are paid wages so shamefully low that they can hardly maintain
themselves in decency, and they are continually being told that they are
about to be dismissed. The wrong's not all on one side, by any means. To
my mind, men like McGinnis who are unwilling to negotiate are a menace
to the country.”
“You are quite right, Adrien,” replied Hugh. “I consider him a most
dangerous man. That sort of pig-headed, bull-headed employer of labour
does more to promote strife than a dozen 'walking delegates.' I am not
terribly strong for the unions, but the point of vantage is always with
the employers. And they have a lot to learn. Oh, you may look at me,
Adrien! I am no bolshevist, but I see a lot of these men in our office.”