It was the night of the tenth of December. Three of the four stories of
the cupola were building, and the upright posts were reaching toward the
fourth. It still appeared to be a confused network of timbers, with only
the beginnings of walls, but as the cupola walls are nothing but a shell
of light boards to withstand the wind, the work was further along than
might have been supposed. Down on the working story the machinery was
nearly all in, and up here in the cupola the scales and garners were
going into place as rapidly as the completing of the supporting
framework permitted. The cupola floors were not all laid. If you had
stood on the distributing floor, over the tops of the bins, you might
have looked not only down through a score of openings between plank
areas and piles of timbers, into black pits, sixteen feet square by
seventy deep, but upward through a grill of girders and joists to the
clear sky. Everywhere men swarmed over the work, and the buzz of the
electric lights and the sounds of hundreds of hammers blended into a
confused hum.
If you had walked to the east end of the building, here and there
balancing along a plank or dodging through gangs of laborers and around
moving timbers, you would have seen stretching from off a point not
halfway through to the ground, the annex bins, rising so steadily that
it was a matter only of a few weeks before they would be ready to
receive grain. Now another walk, this time across the building to the
north side, would show you the river house, out there on the wharf, and
the marine tower rising up through the middle with a single arc lamp on
the topmost girder throwing a mottled, checkered shadow on the wharf and
the water below.
At a little after eight o'clock, Peterson, who had been looking at the
stairway, now nearly completed, came out on the distributing floor. He
was in good spirits, for everything was going well, and Bannon had
frankly credited him, of late, with the improvement in the work of the
night shifts. He stood looking up through the upper floors of the
cupola, and he did not see Max until the timekeeper stood beside him.
"Hello, Max," he said. "We'll have the roof on here in another ten
days."
Max followed Peterson's glance upward.
"I guess that's right. It begins to look as if things was coming 'round
all right. I just come up from the office. Mr. Bannon's there. He'll be
up before long, he says. I was a-wondering if maybe I hadn't ought to go
back and tell him about Grady. He's around, you know."
"Who? Grady?"
"Yes. Him and another fellow was standing down by one of the cribbin'
piles. I was around there on the way up."
"What was they doing?"
"Nothing. Just looking on."
Peterson turned to shout at some laborers, then he pushed back his hat
and scratched his head.
"I don't know but what you'd ought to 'a' told Charlie right off. That
man Grady don't mean us no good."
"I know it, but I wasn't just sure."
"Well, I'll tell you----"
Before Peterson could finish, Max broke in:--
"That's him."
"Where?"
"That fellow over there, walking along slow. He's the one that was with
Grady."
"I'd like to know what he thinks he's doing here." Peterson started
forward, adding, "I guess I know what to say to him."
"Hold on, Pete," said Max, catching his arm. "Maybe we'd better speak to
Mr. Bannon. I'll go down and tell him, and you keep an eye on this
fellow."
Peterson reluctantly assented, and Max walked slowly away, now and then
pausing to look around at the men. But when he had nearly reached the
stairway, where he could slip behind the scaffolding about the only
scale hopper that had reached a man's height above the floor, he moved
more rapidly. He met Bannon on the stairway, and told him what he had
seen. Bannon leaned against the wall of the stairway bin, and looked
thoughtful.
"So he's come, has he?" was his only comment. "You might speak to Pete,
Max, and bring him here. I'll wait."
Max and Peterson found him looking over the work of the carpenters.
"I may not be around much to-night," he said, with a wink, "but I'd like
to see both of you to-morrow afternoon some time. Can you get around
about four o'clock, Pete?"
"Sure," the night boss replied.
"We've got some thinking to do about the work, if we're going to put it
through. I'll look for you at four o'clock then, in the office." He
started down the stairs. "I'm going home now."
"Why," said Peterson, "you only just come."
Bannon paused and looked back over his shoulder. The light came from
directly overhead, and the upper part of his face was in the shadow of
his hat brim, but Max, looking closely at him, thought that he winked
again.
"I wanted to tell you," the foreman went on; "Grady's come around, you
know--and another fellow----"
"Yes, Max told me. I guess they won't hurt you. Good night."
As he went on down he passed a group of laborers who were bringing
stairway material to the carpenters.
"I don't know but what you was talking pretty loud," said Max to
Peterson, in a low voice. "Here's some of 'em now."
"They didn't hear nothing," Peterson replied, and the two went back to
the distributing floor. They stood in a shadow, by the scale hopper,
waiting for the reappearance of Grady's companion. He had evidently gone
on to the upper floors, where he could not be distinguished from the
many other moving figures; but in a few minutes he came back, walking
deliberately toward the stairs. He looked at Peterson and Max, but
passed by without a second glance, and descended. Peterson stood looking
after him.
"Now, I'd like to know what Charlie meant by going home," he said.
Max had been thinking hard. Finally he said:--
"Say, Pete, we're blind."
"Why?"
"Did you think he was going home?"
Peterson looked at him, but did not reply.
"Because he ain't."
"Well, you heard what he said."
"What does that go for? He was winking when he said it. He wasn't going
to stand there and tell the laborers all about it, like we was trying to
do. I'll bet he ain't very far off."
"I ain't got a word to say," said Peterson. "If he wants to leave Grady
to me, I guess I can take care of him."
Max had come to the elevator for a short visit--he liked to watch the
work at night--but now he settled down to stay, keeping about the hopper
where he could see Grady if his head should appear at the top of the
stairs. Something told him that Bannon saw deeper into Grady's
man[oe]uvres than either Peterson or himself, and while he could not
understand, yet he was beginning to think that Grady would appear before
long, and that Bannon knew it.
Sure enough, only a few minutes had gone when Max turned back from a
glance at the marine tower and saw the little delegate standing on the
top step, looking about the distributing floor and up through the
girders overhead, with quick, keen eyes. Then Max understood what it all
meant: Grady had chosen a time when Bannon was least likely to be on the
job; and had sent the other man ahead to reconnoitre. It meant
mischief--Max could see that; and he felt a boy's nervousness at the
prospect of excitement. He stepped farther back into the shadow.
Grady was looking about for Peterson; when he saw his burly figure
outlined against a light at the farther end of the building, he walked
directly toward him, not pausing this time to talk to the laborers or to
look at them. Max, moving off a little to one side, followed, and
reached Peterson's side just as Grady, his hat pushed back on his head
and his feet apart, was beginning to talk.
"I had a little conversation with you the other day, Mr. Peterson. I
called to see you in the interests of the men, the men that are working
for you--working like galley slaves they are, every man of them. It's
shameful to a man that's seen how they've been treated by the nigger
drivers that stands over them day and night." He was speaking in a loud
voice, with the fluency of a man who is carefully prepared. There was
none of the bitterness or the ugliness in his manner that had slipped
out in his last talk with Bannon, for he knew that a score of laborers
were within hearing, and that his words would travel, as if by wire,
from mouth to mouth about the building and the grounds below. "I stand
here, Mr. Peterson, the man chosen by these slaves of yours, to look
after their rights. I do not ask you to treat them with kindness, I do
not ask that you treat them as gentlemen. What do I ask? I demand what's
accorded to them by the Constitution of the United States and the
Declaration of Independence, that says even a nigger has more rights
than you've given to these men, the men that are putting money into your
pocket, and Mr. Bannon's pocket, and the corporation's pocket, by the
sweat of their brows. Look at them; will you look at them?" He waved his
arm toward the nearest group, who had stopped working and were
listening; and then, placing a cigar in his mouth and tilting it upward,
he struck a match and sheltered it in his hands, looking over it for a
moment at Peterson.
The night boss saw by this time that Grady meant business, that his
speech was preliminary to something more emphatic, and he knew that he
ought to stop it before the laborers should be demoralized.
"You can't do that here, Mister," said Max, over Peterson's shoulder,
indicating the cigar.
Grady still held the match, and looked impudently across the tip of his
cigar. Peterson took it up at once.
"You'll have to drop that," he said. "There's no smoking on this job."
The match had gone out, and Grady lighted another.
"So that's one of your rules, too?" he said, in the same loud voice.
"It's a wonder you let a man eat."
Peterson was growing angry. His voice rose as he talked.
"I ain't got time to talk to you," he said. "The insurance company says
there can't be no smoking here. If you want to know why, you'd better
ask them."
Grady blew out the match and returned the cigar to his pocket, with an
air of satisfaction that Peterson could not make out.
"That's all right, Mr. Peterson. I didn't come here to make trouble. I
come here as a representative of these men"--he waved again toward the
laborers--"and I say right here, that if you'd treated them right in the
first place, I wouldn't be here at all. I've wanted you to have a fair
show. I've put up with your mean tricks and threats and insults ever
since you begun--and why? Because I wouldn't delay you and hurt the
work. It's the industries of to-day, the elevators and railroads, and
the work of strong men like these that's the bulwark of America's
greatness. But what do I get in return, Mister Peterson? I come up here
as a gentleman and talk to you. I treat you as a gentleman. I overlook
what you've showed yourself to be. And how do you return it? By talking
like the blackguard you are--you knock an innocent cigar----"
"Your time's up!" said Pete, drawing a step nearer. "Come to business,
or clear out. That's all I've got to say to you."
"All right, _Mister_ Peterson--_all_ right. I'll put up with your
insults. I can afford to forget myself when I look about me at the
heavier burdens these men have to bear, day and night. Look at
that--look at it, and then try to talk to me."
He pointed back toward the stairs where a gang of eight laborers were
carrying a heavy timber across the shadowy floor.
"Well, what about it?" said Pete, with half-controlled rage.
"What about it! But never mind. I'm a busy man myself. I've got no more
time to waste on the likes of you. Take a good look at that, and then
listen to me. That's the last stick of timber that goes across this
floor until you put a runway from the hoist to the end of the building.
And every stick that leaves the runway has got to go on a dolly. Mark my
words now--I'm talking plain. My men don't lift another pound of timber
on this house--everything goes on rollers. I've tried to be a patient
man, but you've run against the limit. You've broke the last back you'll
have a chance at." He put his hand to his mouth as if to shout at the
gang, but dropped it and faced around. "No, I won't stop them. I'll be
fair to the last." He pulled out his watch. "I'll give you one hour from
now. At ten o'clock, if your runway and the dollies ain't working, the
men go out. And the next time I see you, I won't be so easy."
He turned away, waved to the laborers, with an, "All right, boys; go
ahead," and walked grandly toward the stairway.
Max whistled.
"I'd like to know where Charlie is," said Peterson.
"He ain't far. I'll find him;" and Max hurried away.
Bannon was sitting in the office chair with his feet on the
draughting-table, figuring on the back of a blotter. The light from the
wall lamp was indistinct, and Bannon had to bend his head forward to see
the figures. He did not look up when the door opened and Max came to the
railing gate.
"Grady's been up on the distributing floor," said Max, breathlessly, for
he had been running.
"What did he want?"
"He's going to call the men off at ten o'clock if we don't put in a
runway and dollies on the distributing floor."
Bannon looked at his watch.
"Is that all he wants?"
Max, in his excitement, did not catch the sarcasm in the question.
"That's all he said, but it's enough. We can't do it"
Bannon closed his watch with a snap.
"No," he said, "and we won't throw away any good time trying. You'd
better round up the committee that's supposed to run this lodge and send
them here. That young Murphy's one of them--he can put you straight.
Bring Pete back with you, and the new man, James."
Max lingered, with a look of awe and admiration.
"Are you going to stand out, Mr. Bannon?" he asked.
Bannon dropped his feet to the floor, and turned toward the table.
"Yes," he said. "We're going to stand out."
Since Bannon's talk with President Carver a little drama had been going
on in the local lodge, a drama that neither Bannon, Max, nor Peterson
knew about. James had been selected by Carver for this work because of
proved ability and shrewdness. He had no sooner attached himself to the
lodge, and made himself known as an active member, than his personality,
without any noticeable effort on his part, began to make itself felt. Up
to this time Grady had had full swing, for there had been no one among
the laborers with force enough to oppose him.
The first collision took place at an early meeting after Grady's last
talk with Bannon. The delegate, in the course of the meeting, bitterly
attacked Bannon, accusing him, at the climax of his oration, of an
attempt to buy off the honest representative of the working classes for
five thousand dollars. This had a tremendous effect on the excitable
minds before him. He finished his speech with an impassioned tirade
against the corrupt influences of the money power, and was mopping his
flushed face, listening with elation to the hum of anger that resulted,
confident that he had made his point, when James arose. The new man was
as familiar with the tone of the meetings of laborers as Grady himself.
At the beginning he had no wish further than to get at the truth. Grady
had not stated his case well. It had convinced the laborers, but to
James it had weak points. He asked Grady a few pointed questions, that,
had the delegate felt the truth behind him, should not have been hard to
answer. But Grady was still under the spell of his own oratory, and in
attempting to get his feet back on the ground, he bungled. James did not
carry the discussion beyond the point where Grady, in the bewilderment
of recognizing this new element in the lodge, lost his temper, but when
he sat down, the sentiment of the meeting had changed. Few of those men
could have explained their feelings; it was simply that the new man was
stronger than they were, perhaps as strong as Grady, and they were
influenced accordingly.
There was no decision for a strike at that meeting. Grady, cunning at
the business, immediately dropped open discussion, and, smarting under
the sense of lost prestige, set about regaining his position by
well-planned talk with individual laborers. This went on, largely
without James' knowledge, until Grady felt sure that a majority of the
men were back in his control. This time he was determined to carry
through the strike without the preliminary vote of the men. It was a
bold stroke, but boldness was needed to defeat Charlie Bannon; and
nobody knew better than Grady that a dashing show of authority would be
hard for James or any one else to resist.
And so he had come on the job this evening, at a time when he supposed
Bannon safe in bed, and delivered his ultimatum. Not that he had any
hope of carrying the strike through without some sort of a collision
with the boss, but he well knew that an encounter after the strike had
gathered momentum would be easier than one before. Bannon might be able
to outwit an individual, even Grady himself, but he would find it hard
to make headway against an angry mob. And now Grady was pacing stiffly
about the Belt Line yards, while the minute hand of his watch crept
around toward ten o'clock. Even if Bannon should be called within the
hour, a few fiery words to those sweating gangs on the distributing
floor should carry the day. But Grady did not think that this would be
necessary. He was still in the mistake of supposing that Peterson and
the boss were at outs, and he had arrived, by a sort of reasoning that
seemed the keenest strategy, at the conclusion that Peterson would take
the opportunity to settle the matter himself. In fact, Grady had evolved
a neat little campaign, and he was proud of himself.
Bannon did not have to wait long. Soon there was a sound of feet outside
the door, and after a little hesitation, six laborers entered, five of
them awkwardly and timidly, wondering what was to come. Peterson
followed, with Max, and closed the door. The members of the committee
stood in a straggling row at the railing, looking at each other and at
the floor and ceiling--anywhere but at the boss, who was sitting on the
table, sternly taking them in. James stepped to one side.
"Is this all the committee?" Bannon presently said.
The men hesitated, and Murphy, who was in the centre, answered, "Yes,
sir."
"You are the governing members of your lodge?"
There was an air of cool authority about Bannon that disturbed the men.
They had been led to believe that his power reached only the work on the
elevator, and that an attempt on his part to interfere in any way with
their organization would be an act of high-handed tyranny, "to be
resisted to the death" (Grady's words). But these men standing before
their boss, in his own office, were not the same men that thrilled with
righteous wrath under Grady's eloquence in the meetings over Barry's
saloon. So they looked at the floor and ceiling again, until Murphy at
last answered:--
"Yes, sir."
Bannon waited again, knowing that every added moment of silence gave him
the firmer control.
"I have nothing to say about the government of your organization," he
said, speaking slowly and coldly. "I have brought you here to ask you
this question, Have you voted to strike?"
The silence was deep. Peterson, leaning against the closed door, held
his breath; Max, sitting on the railing with his elbow thrown over the
desk, leaned slightly forward. The eyes of the laborers wandered
restlessly about the room. They were disturbed, taken off their guard;
they needed Grady. But the thought of Grady was followed by the
consciousness of the silent figure of the new man, James, standing
behind them. Murphy's first impulse was to lie. Perhaps, if James had
not been there, he would have lied. As it was, he glanced up two or
three times, and his lips as many times framed themselves about words
that did not come. Finally he said, mumbling the words:--
"No, we ain't voted for no strike."
"There has been no such decision made by your organization?"
"No, I guess not."
Bannon turned to Peterson.
"Mr. Peterson, will you please find Mr. Grady and bring him here."
Max and Peterson hurried out together. Bannon drew up the chair, and
turned his back on the committee, going on with his figuring. Not a word
was said; the men hardly moved; and the minutes went slowly by. Then
there was a stir outside, and the sound of low voices. The door flew
open, admitting Grady, who stalked to the railing, choking with anger.
Max, who immediately followed, was grinning, his eyes resting on a round
spot of dust on Grady's shoulder, and on his torn collar and disarranged
tie. Peterson came in last, and carefully closed the door--his eyes were
blazing, and one sleeve was rolled up over his bare forearm. Neither of
them spoke. If anything in the nature of an assault had seemed necessary
in dragging the delegate to the office, there had been no witnesses. And
he had entered the room of his own accord.
Grady was at a disadvantage, and he knew it. Breathing hard, his face
red, his little eyes darting about the room, he took it all in--the
members of the committee; the boss, figuring at the table, with an air
of exasperating coolness about his lean back; and last of all, James,
standing in the shadow. It was the sight of the new man that checked the
storm of words that was pressing on Grady's tongue. But he finally
gathered himself and stepped forward, pushing aside one of the
committee.
Then Bannon turned. He faced about in his chair and began to talk
straight at the committee, ignoring the delegate. Grady began to talk at
the same time, but though his voice was the louder, no one seemed to
hear him. The men were looking at Bannon. Grady hesitated, started
again, and then, bound by his own rage and his sense of defeat, let his
words die away, and stood casting about for an opening.
"--This man Grady threatened a good while ago that I would have a strike
on my hands. He finally came to me and offered to protect me if I would
pay him five thousand dollars."
"That's a lie!" shouted the delegate. "He come to me----"
Bannon had hardly paused. He drew a typewritten copy of Grady's letter
from his pocket, and read it aloud, then handed it over to Murphy.
"That's the way he came at me. I want you to read it."
The man took it awkwardly, glanced at it, and passed it on.
"To-night he's ordered a strike. He calls himself your representative,
but he has acted on his own responsibility. Now, I am going to talk
plain to you. I came here to build this elevator, and I'm going to do
it. I propose to treat you men fair and square. If you think you ain't
treated right, you send an honest man to this office, and I'll talk with
him. But I'm through with Grady. I won't have him here at all. If you
send him around again, I'll throw him off the job."
The men were a little startled. They looked at one another, and the man
on Murphy's left whispered something. Bannon sat still, watching them.
Then Grady came to himself. He wheeled around to face the committee, and
threw out one arm in a wide gesture.
"I demand to know what this means! I demand to know if there is a law in
this land! Is an honest man, the representative of the hand of labor, to
be attacked by hired ruffians? Is he to be slandered by the tyrant who
drives you at the point of the pistol? And you not men enough to defend
your rights--the rights held by every American--the rights granted by
the Constitution! But it ain't for myself I would talk. It ain't my own
injuries that I suffer for. Your liberty hangs in the balance. This man
has dared to interfere in the integrity of your lodge. Have you no
words----"
Bannon arose, caught Grady's arm, and whirled him around.
"Grady," he said, "shut up."
The delegate tried to jerk away, but he could not shake off that grip.
He looked toward the committeemen, but they were silent. He looked
everywhere but up into the eyes that were blazing down at him. And
finally Bannon felt the muscles within his grip relax.
"I'll tell you what I want you to do," said Bannon to the committeemen.
"I want you to elect a new delegate. Don't talk about interference--I
don't care how you elect him, or who he is, if he comes to me squarely."
Grady was wriggling again.
"This means a strike!" he shouted. "This means the biggest strike the
West has ever seen! You won't get men for love or money----"
Bannon gave the arm a wrench, and broke in:--
"I'm sick of this. I laid this matter before President Carver. I have
his word that if you hang on to this man after he's been proved a
blackmailer, your lodge can be dropped from the Federation. If you try
to strike, you won't hurt anybody but yourselves. That's all. You can
go."
"Wait----" Grady began, but they filed out without looking at him.
James, as he followed them, nodded, and said, "Good night, Mr. Bannon."
Then for the last time Bannon led Grady away. Peterson started forward,
but the boss shook his head, and went out, marching the delegate between
the lumber piles to the point where the path crossed the Belt Line
tracks.
"Now, Mr. Grady," he said, "this is where our ground stops. The other
sides are the road there, and the river, and the last piles of cribbing
at the other end. I'm telling you so you will know where you don't
belong. Now, get out!"