Even as the three outraged women moved forward slowly toward the door
with that slowness which their dignity demanded of them under the
circumstances, there came an interruption.
A servant appeared in the doorway, and then stood aside to usher in
three newcomers. These were no others than Mr. McMahon, Mr. Schmidt and
Mr. Ferguson, who halted in astonishment on the threshold, at beholding
their wives thus unexpectedly bearing down on them in the house of the
enemy. In their turn, the women came to an abrupt standstill, regarding
the men with round eyes. For a few seconds, the six remained thus facing
one another, too dumfounded by the encounter for speech.
Then, presently, the German uttered a guttural ejaculation in his own
tongue, which seemed to relieve the general paralysis.
"Caught with the goods!" Ferguson exclaimed sardonically, with a scowl
of rebuke directed toward his daughter.
At the same moment, McMahon fairly shouted an indignant question at his
wife as to her presence in this house. But that Amazonian female did not
shrivel before the blistering growl of her husband.
"Sure, I'll trouble you, Mike McMahon," she declared fiercely, "if it's
endearing terms you're about to use, to wait till we get home." Under
the spell of this admonition, the Irishman contented himself with
subterranean mutterings, to which his wife discreetly paid no attention.
"But what's it all about?" Ferguson inquired sharply, of his daughter.
"Ah, forget it!" came the unfilial retort. Then, recalling the Vere De
Vere, she amended her statement: "I mean, father dear, do not make a
scene, I beg of you."
"A scene!" Ferguson exclaimed, savagely. "Why, I'll--"
What the irate Yankee might have done was never revealed, for he was
interrupted by Cicily, who had now recovered her poise, so that she
spoke pleasantly, favoring the tumultuous parent with her sweetest
smile.
"Sadie and the other ladies came to call on me, Mr. Ferguson," she
exclaimed, well aware that this announcement left the mystery of the
women's presence as it had been before.
Mrs. McMahon, however, shed a ray of light on the puzzle.
"Faith, and 'tis that," she agreed, glibly. "We just dropped in for a
cup of tea with a member of our club."
It was Hamilton who now interrupted further questions by the three
husbands. He had been nervously fidgeting where he stood, and at last
his impatience found vent in words.
"I'm not interested in these domestic affairs," he snapped. "If you men
have anything to say to your wives and daughters, take them home, and
say it to them there. This is not the place for it. There's only one
thing that I have time to listen to from you."
Schmidt waddled forward a pace beyond his fellows, and addressed his
former employer with the dignity born of constituted authority.
"Well, Mr. Hamilton," he said ponderously, with his accent more
pronounced than usual by reason of the emotion under which he labored,
"I speak as the chairman of the committee. So, sir, you will listen to
us right here and now." He paused for a moment to wipe the perspiration
from his forehead with an adequately huge handkerchief.
Ferguson seized on the opportunity thus given to voice the rancor that
was in his heart.
"Yes, yes," he cried excitedly, "you want to understand that we're men!
We're striking--yes! But we're fighting you in the open, like men. And
we've come to tell you that we're not going to stand for the way you
fight.... Is that plain enough for you, Mr. Hamilton?"
The amazement of Hamilton over the charge thus brought against him was
undoubtedly genuine. He stepped forward as if to strike, but checked
himself almost instantly. There was no longer any look of boyishness in
the drawn fare, with the chin thrust forward belligerently, the brows
drawn low, the eyes blazing.
"The way I fight!" he repeated challengingly, menacingly.
Schmidt, having restored the handkerchief to its pocket, took up the
accusation.
"Yes," he declared, with surly spitefulness. "I have been in a dozen
strikes, and this is the first time any employer ever attacked me in my
affections--through my Frieda." The German's narrow eyes were alight
with venomous resentment, as he glowered at Hamilton.
Astounded by this attack, Hamilton forgot rage in stark bewilderment.
"What on earth do you--can you--mean?" he stormed.
"It is not right," was the stolid asseveration of the German. "The home
is sacred." The speaker's tone was so malevolent that Hamilton was
impressed, in spite of himself. And then, suddenly, a suspicion upreared
itself in his brain--a suspicion so monstrous, so absurd, so baseless,
so extravagantly impossible, that he would have laughed aloud, but for
the sincerity of the feeling manifested in the faces of the men before
him. His eyes roved from Schmidt to the faded woman who was the man's
wife. He saw her shrinking behind the ample bulk of Mrs. McMahon, her
mouth opening and closing soundlessly, as if in a wordless soliloquy.
Then, again, his eyes returned to the man who had just uttered the
preposterous accusation, and he beheld the usually jocund face
distorted by a spasm of jealous fury, the insensate fury of the male in
the loathed presence of a rival. No, here was no room for laughter.
However ludicrous the mistake in its essence, its fruits were too
serious for mirth. He turned his gaze on McMahon, and saw there the like
virile detestation of himself. He ventured a glance toward the Amazon,
who loomed over-buxom and stalwart. Again, he was tempted to amusement;
but, again, a look toward the husband checked any inclination toward
lightness of mood. Finally, he regarded Ferguson, and there, too, he
beheld a passionate reproach. He did not trouble to stare at the girl.
He remembered perfectly her cheap prettiness, her mincing manner, her
flamboyant smartness of apparel from Grand Street emporiums of fashion.
The strain of a false situation gripped him evilly, so that for the
moment he faltered before it, uncertain as to his course. Denial, he
felt, must be almost hopeless, since how could men capable of such crude
stupidity digest reason? He hesitated visibly, and in that hesitation
his accusers read guilt.
It was evident from a sudden, flaming red that suffused Mrs. McMahon's
expansive countenance that she was beginning to grasp the purport of
the accusations against Hamilton. She started toward her husband with a
demeanor that augured ill for peaceful conference, when she was stayed
by Cicily's grasp on her arm.
"Wait!" came the command, in a soothing voice. "Let me speak to these
foolish men. You'll only stir them up, and make them worse." The Amazon
yielded reluctantly, for she loved as well as honored the woman who had
won her friendship by so much endeavor; but there was dire warning of
things to come in the gaze she fixed on her suspicious husband.
"I'll not listen to this foolishness any longer," Cicily declared,
dearly, in a cold voice that held the attention of all. "You men are too
utterly absurd. There's no love lost between your wives and my husband,
I assure you. If you had chanced in a few minutes earlier, you would
have been well aware of the fact." Her statement was corroborated by the
vehement nods of the women and the glances of disdainful aversion that
they cast on the master of the house at this reference as to the status
of their mutual affection. "Your wives and daughters," Cicily concluded
haughtily, with a level look at the three husbands, which was not
wanting in its effect, "are my friends."
But Ferguson was not dismayed by the reproof.
"Yes, Mrs. Hamilton," he answered, with bitter emphasis, "you're the
one--we know that! You're the cat's-paw, with your clubs and your
benefits." He turned to Hamilton, and went on speaking with even greater
virulence. "It's through her that you're fighting; it's through her that
you're attacking us in our homes; it's through her that you're turning
our wives and our daughters against us until our lives are miserable
with them, morning, noon and night. They're forever talking against the
strike, trying to make us come back to you, and to take the cut. And it
ain't fair, I tell you! No honest employer would fight that way from
behind a woman's petticoats. Women haven't got any place in business,
according to our way of thinking. We didn't mind your wife's butting in
with bath-tubs and gymnasiums and libraries, and such foolish truck as
that; but, when it comes to mixing up in the strike, and organizing our
wives and daughters against us, why, we kick. That's the long and the
short of it, Mr. Hamilton. No real man would stoop to that sort of work.
It's a woman's trick, that's what it is--and women have no place in
business." Schmidt and McMahon, almost in unison, rumbled assent.
At last, the badgered employer felt himself sure of his ground.
"You're right, Ferguson," he declared, with intense conviction. "Women
have no place in business. You don't need to argue to convince me of
that fact. If you doubt my sentiments in that respect, just ask my
wife--she knows what my ideas on the subject are. But I knew nothing of
all this. Mrs. Hamilton has mixed herself up with this affair entirely
without my knowledge or consent. She has nothing whatever to do with my
business affairs. As for the future, you may rest assured--"
"You may rest assured," Cicily interpolated, "that Mrs. Hamilton will
continue to do precisely as she pleases."
"But, Cicily--" Hamilton would have protested.
"Precisely as she pleases," came the repetition, with an added emphasis,
which, Hamilton knew from experience, it would be useless to combat.
"Faith," exclaimed McMahon, in humorous appreciation of the scene, "the
filly has the bit in her teeth and is running away."
Cicily, however, was not to be diverted from a frank exposition of her
position. Now, she faced the men, and made clear her attitude:
"Let me tell you that Mrs. Hamilton is proud to be merely a member of
the club which you have heard referred to and certainly she is not going
to resign her membership in it. You men have your union. There's no
reason why we women should not have our club as well. You say that I've
been helping them. Very well, what of it? Yes, I have been helping them.
Why shouldn't the women take money from me, I'd like to know. For that
matter, it's nothing like what you men have been doing--taking money
from Carrington and Morton.... And you talk about fighting fair!"
At the final statement made by his wife, Hamilton whirled on the men.
"What's that?" he fairly barked. "Are Morton and Carrington supplying
you fellows with money to prolong the strike?"
"Yes," Cicily replied, as the men maintained a sullen silence. "And
these men of yours have been listening to their lying promises about
starting a new factory, as soon as you are down and out for keeps." She
eyed the men scornfully, as she continued: "Haven't you the sense to see
that it's merely a plan to ruin Mr. Hamilton completely? They want to
kill him off for good and all. Then, when he's out of the way, you'll
have to work for any sort of wages they are willing to give you. Good
gracious, the scheme is plain enough! Why can't you see it as it is--a
plot to do him up through you? A woman can see the inside of it easily
enough!"
But her sensible argument was wasted on the men, who already had their
opinions formed, and were not likely to change them readily at a word.
"Women have no place in business," Schmidt reiterated, heavily. "We have
proved that. Now, Mr. Hamilton, you just keep your wife to yourself. We
don't want her meddling around in our concerns. And we'll keep our wives
to ourselves. They don't want you!" he added significantly; and McMahon
and Ferguson endorsed the sentiment by vigorous nods of assent. "So,"
the German concluded, "we will settle this strike ourselves, like men,
without any more woman's interference. Am I right?"
"That's exactly what I want you to do," Hamilton replied. "And any time
you want to come back with the cut, let me know."
"I hope you won't hold your breath while you're waiting," the Irishman
advised grimly.
"And I hope you won't be hungry," Hamilton retorted.
With this exchange of civilities, the meeting between the men and their
former employer came to an abrupt end. Without any further farewells
than a series of curt nods, the men filed from the room.
"I'm thinking that it's a pleasant talk we'll be having together, this
night," Mrs. McMahon remarked judicially, after the departure of the
committee. "So, it's thinking I am that we'd better start early, and
then we'll have time a plenty to thrash it out with the boys. Good-by,
Mrs. Hamilton.... And please to remember that the next meeting of the
club is to be on the Thursday."
"I'll surely be there," Cicily promised.
The adieux were quickly spoken, and the women took their departure,
leaving husband and wife alone together, standing silently.