The roughly lettered clapboard, which they had heedlessly passed a
thousand times, seemed to have taken a novel significance to them.
_Richard_. What's wanted there?
_Giles. [Very affably.]_ We was lookin' round for a job, Mr.
Shackford.
_Richard_. We are not taking on any hands at present.
_Giles_. Didn't know but you was. Somebody said you was.
_Richard_. Somebody is mistaken.
_Giles_. P'rhaps to-morrow, or nex' day?
_Richard_. Rather doubtful, Giles.
_Giles. [Uneasily.]_ Mr. Slocum ain't goin' to give up
business, is he?
_Richard_. Why shouldn't he, if it doesn't pay? The business
is carried on for his amusement and profit; when the profit stops it
won't be amusing any longer. Mr. Slocum is not going to run the yard
for the sake of the Marble Workers' Association. He would rather
drive a junk-cart. He might be allowed to steer that himself.
_Giles_. Oh!
_Richard_. Good-morning, Giles.
_Gikles_. 'Mornin', Mr. Shackford.
Richard rushed back to Mr. Slocum.
"The strike is broken, sir!"
"What do you mean?"
"The thing has collapsed! The tide is turning, _and has washed
in a lot of dead wood!"_
"Thank God!" cried Mr. Slocum.
An hour or so later a deputation of four, consisting of Stevens,
Denyven, Durgin, and Piggott, waited upon Mr. Slocum in his private
office, and offered, on behalf of all the departments, to resume work
at the old rates.
Mr. Slocum replied that he had not objected to the old rates, but
the new, and that he accepted their offer--conditionally.
"You have overlooked one point, Mr. Stevens."
"Which one, sir?"
"The apprentices."
"We thought you might not insist there, sir."
"I insist on conducting my own business in my own way."
The voice was the voice of Slocum, but the backbone was Richard's.
"Then, sir, the Association don't object to a reasonable number of
apprentices."
"How many is that?"
"As many as you want, I expect, sir," said Stevens, shuffling his
feet.
"Very well, Stevens. Go round to the front gate and Mr. Shackford
will let you in."
There were two doors to the office, one leading into the yard, and
the other, by which the deputation had entered and was now making its
exit, opened upon the street.
Richard heaved a vast sigh of relief as he took down the beam
securing the principal entrance.
"Good-morning, boys," he chirped, with a smile as bright as newly
minted gold. "I hope you enjoyed yourselves."
The quartet ducked their heads bashfully, and Stevens replied,
"Can't speak for the others, Mr. Shackford, but I never enjoyed
myself worse."
Piggott lingered a moment behind the rest, and looking back over
his shoulder said, "That peach garden was what fetched us!"
Richard gave a loud laugh, for the peach garden had been a
horticultural invention of his own.
In the course of the forenoon the majority of the hands presented
themselves at the office, dropping into the yard in gangs of five or
six, and nearly all were taken on. To dispose definitely of Lumley,
Giles, and Peterson, they were not taken on at Slocum's Yard, though
they continued to be, directly or indirectly, Slocum's pensioners,
even after they were retired to the town farm.
Once more the chisels sounded merrily under the long shed. That
same morning the spinners went back to the mules, but the molders
held out until nightfall, when it was signified to them that they
demands would be complied with.
The next day the steam-whistles of the Miantowona Iron Works and
Dana's Mills sent the echoes flying beyond that undulating line of
pines and hemlocks which half encircles Stillwater, and falls away
loosely on either side, like an unclasped girdle.
A calm, as if from out the cloudless blue sky that arched it day
after day, seemed to drift down upon the village. Han-Lin, with no
more facial expression than an orange, suddenly reappeared on the
streets, and went about repairing his laundry, unmolested. The
children were playing in the sunny lanes again, unafraid, and mothers
sat on doorsteps in the summer twilights, singing softly to the baby
in arm. There was meat on the table, and the tea-kettle hummed
comfortably at the back of the stove. The very winds that rustled
through the fragrant pines, and wandered fitfully across the vivid
green of the salt marshes, breathed peace and repose.
Then, one morning, this blissful tranquility was rudely shattered.
Old Mr. Lemuel Shackford had been found murdered in his own house in
Welch's Court.