_Wednesday, June 3rd._
The morning after I landed, according to our program, I went to
Dunsany's to apply for a job. I wonder if any merchant before me ever
had the experience of besieging the doors of his own shop in a like
humble capacity. Probably not. I enjoyed the experience. As soon as
I opened the door I began to learn things about my own place. I always
thought that my democratic ideas encouraged my employees to treat me
exactly like one of themselves, but I found that they did not--quite.
Walking through the aisles I perceived a new atmosphere, a casualness,
an indifference in the salesmen which shocked me at first, then made me
want to laugh. The joke was on me!
My letter of recommendation, which I had written myself, naturally,
gained me the entrée to the present head of the firm, i.e., my son
Edward. I approached his office with some nervousness. Here would be
the first grand test of my disguise. Would the son recognise his
father? And if he did, would he have the wit not to give me away
before others? And if he did not, would I be able to keep my own face
in the ludicrous situation?
I should say that in the matter of disguise I have followed your
instructions carefully. The wig or toupee or transformation with which
you furnished me, completely changes my appearance. I have also
applied the stubbly beard and short moustache as you showed me how to
do. I am letting my own hair grow beneath and will soon be able to
leave off the false, which will be a relief as it is both hot and
sticky. In addition it occurred to me to leave aside certain dental
work which cost me a lot of money. The result is startling, and very
satisfactory to our purpose.
My clothes I bought ready-made in a London emporium. Need I say more?
The hat is a wonder, a sort of decrepit music-master affair of black
felt. It is undoubtedly third or fourth hand--or should I say fourth
head? I took care to have it well fumigated.
Eddie did not recognise me. He favoured me with some sharp glances
which discomposed me not a little, but this was only natural caution in
engaging an unknown man. In our business we have to be careful. I was
well-pleased with Eddie's manner, succinct and business-like without a
trace of arrogance. Much better than my own manner, I dare say.
Eddie was plainly annoyed by the situation, nor could I blame him. It
was, of course, very irregular. In effect we were breaking the alien
labour law, beside opening up the prospect of labour troubles in our
own shop. I knew exactly what was passing in the boy's mind, and I was
longing to reassure him. Instead I had to make believe to be slightly
overawed in the presence of my little boy!
He had no choice in the matter, because I had virtually instructed him
to employ this Mattingly. In addition to the letter of recommendation
I had written him from London saying that I was sending such a man, an
experienced jewel-setter, I had said, and had described Mattingly's
appearance, so that he had no need to ask me to identify myself.
Finally after asking a number of questions, to all of which I had the
answers pat, Eddie engaged me. I followed him to an upper floor, hard
put to it to keep from grinning at the idea of my boy showing me the
way around the place. Fortunately the spectacles I wear help me to
preserve an owl-like gravity.
He took me to Ashley, the foreman of the gem-setting department.
Ashley has been with us forty years. He is a surly, lovable old crab.
It was under Ashley that I got my training in handicraft twenty-five
years ago. Ashley regarded me with no favourable eye, but bowed to the
mandate of the head of the firm, of course. He gave me a boy's work
cleaning old settings, and kept a sharp watch on me. Later I succeeded
in mollifying him a little by showing a certificate of good standing in
the English jewellers' union, and by asking the name of the local
secretary so that I could apply for membership here.
He has not forgiven me, though, for being put in over the youngsters'
heads. "A blank-blank furriner!" his irascible eye seems to say. I
thought I had taken the measure of the old man's irascibility, having
worked under him. And in late years I would have said: "Here is one
man in my shop who is not afraid to speak his mind to me." But Eddie
had not been gone five minutes before I found that Ashley had never
spoken _all_ of his mind to me. I found, too, that his irascibility
had been tempered to the boss's son. The boss himself, masquerading as
a meek, alien workman, now received the full benefit of it.
I am glad I made the resolution before coming here not to let anything
I might learn on the inside, apart from actual dishonesty, influence me
in dealing with my men later. Already I confess my patience has been
tried. I thought I was a radical myself, but I find I am way behind
the times. There is one young fellow, Mullen by name, a hothead, a
socialist, who exasperates me every time he opens his mouth. He is so
sure that his crazy ideas are right! Yet he is none the worse workman
for that. He and old Ashley are the leaders of the two elements in the
shop, and I'm sorry to say the old man generally comes off second best
in their verbal encounters.
During one of their arguments the first day, I was much amused, and a
little alarmed, when the talk turned on me.
"You with your socialist talk!" cried Ashley to Mullen scornfully. "A
man would think every boss was a horned devil! There's our old man
now, what's the matter with him?"
"I don't know him," said Mullen with a leer. "We ain't on visiting
terms."
"He talks to us, simple and friendly, just like one of ourselves," said
Ashley.
"Sure!" cried Mullen. "It don't cost him nothin'! I ain't seen him
give up nothin' but talk, though. That's what he keeps you quiet with,
a little soft talk like strokin' the dog!"
"He don't set up to be no more than a man like myself!" said my
defender.
"Sure, and he is no more!" cried the other. "I've got as good an
appetite for my meals as him, and my kids is as strong and handsome as
his. But there he is sailing across the ocean in a soot de luxe, and
here am I sweating at his bench."
"Well, what are you going to do about it?" asked Ashley, whereat all
the men on his side crowed.
"Do?" cried Mullen. "I'm goin' to give him fair value for his wages,
that's what I'm goin' to do. But I don't have to lick the hand that
pats me!"
"A man can do what he likes with his own, I guess," said Ashley.
"'Tain't his own!" was the surprising answer. "He didn't earn it, did
he? It was the surplus that his dad made out of us workmen, and his
grand-dad before him."
"His grand-dad started as a workman like ourselves," said Ashley.
"Only he was the best workman, so he went ahead."
"I doubt that," said Mullen coolly. "'Tain't the best workman that
gets ahead, but the sharpest. Grand-dad was sharp enough to get ahead
of the other workman. All right, I say. Let him enjoy what he can
get. But does that give his family the right to run us to the end of
time?"
"What are you going to do about it?" asked Ashley again. All his
supporters laughed.
Mullen turned to me unexpectedly. "What have you got to say about it,
mate? You know what they think about such things across the water.
Give us your ideas."
"I don't know the boss," I said feebly. "How can I tell?"
"I don't mean him," said Mullen scornfully. "He's nothing but a rich
man. I mean about labour and capital."