From one of the windows of Mary's office, she could see the factory gate.
"If they do go on strike," she thought, "I shall see them walk out."
She didn't have to watch long.
First in groups of twos and threes, and then thick and fast, the men
appeared, their lunch boxes under their arms, all making for the gate.
Some were arguing, some were joking, others looked serious. It struck
Mary that perhaps these latter were wondering what they would tell their
wives.
"I don't envy them the explanation," she half smiled to herself.
But her smile was short-lived. In the hallway she heard a step and,
turning, she saw Uncle Stanley looking at her.
"What's the matter with those men who are going out?" he asked.
"As if he didn't know!" she thought, but aloud she answered, "They're
going on strike."
"What are they striking for?"
"Because I wouldn't discharge those four women."
He gave her a look that seemed to say, "You see what you've done--think
you could run things. A nice hornet's nest you've stirred up!" At first
he turned away as though to go back to his office, but he seemed to think
better of it.
"You might as well shut down the whole plant," he said. "We can't do
anything without the automatics. You know that as well as I do."
He waited for a time, but she made no answer.
"Shall I tell the rest of the men?" he asked.
"Tell them what, Uncle Stanley?"
"That we're going to shut down till further notice?"
Mary shook her head.
"It would be a pity to do that," she said, "because--don't you
see?--there wouldn't be anything then for the four women to do."
At this new evidence of woman's utter inability to deal with large
affairs, Uncle Stanley snorted. "We've got to do something," said he.
"All right, Uncle," said Mary, pressing the button on the side of her
desk, "I'll do the best I can."
For in the last few minutes a plan had entered her mind--a plan which has
probably already presented itself to you.
"When the war was on," she thought, "nearly all the work in that room was
done by women. I wonder if I couldn't get them back there now--just to
show the men what we can do--"
In answer to her ring, Joe knocked and entered, respectful admiration in
his eye. You may remember Joe, "the brightest boy in the office." In the
three years that Mary had known him, he had grown and was now in the
transient stage between office boy and clerk--wore garters around his
shirt sleeves to keep his cuffs up, feathered his hair in the front, and
wore a large black enamel ring with the initial "J" worked out in
"diamonds."
"Joe," she said, "I want you to bring me the employment cards of all the
women who worked here during the war. And send Miss Haskins in, please; I
want to write a circular letter."
She hurried him away with a nod and a quick smile.
"Gee, I wish there was a lion or something out here," he thought as he
hurried through the hall to the outer office, and after he had taken Mary
the cards and sent Miss Haskins in, he proudly remarked to the other
clerks, "Maybe they thought she'd faint away and call for the doctor when
they went on strike, but, say, she hasn't turned a hair. I'll bet she's
up to something, too."
It wasn't a long letter that Mary sent to the list of names which she
gave Miss Haskins, but it had that quiet pull and power which messages
have when they come from the heart.
"Oh, I know a lot will come," said Mrs. Ridge when Mary showed her a copy
of it. "They would come anyhow, Miss Spencer. Most of them never made
money like they made it here. They've been away long enough now to miss
it and--Ha-ha-a!--Excuse me." She suddenly checked herself and looked
very red and solemn.
"What are you laughing at?" asked Mary.
"I was thinking of my next door neighbour, Mrs. Strauss. She's never
through saying that the year she was here was the happiest year of her
life; and how she'd like to come back again. She'll be one of the first
to come--I know she will. And her husband is one of the strikers--that's
the funny part of it!"
Mary smiled herself at that, and she smiled again the next morning when
she saw the women coming through the gate.
"Report in your old locker room," her letter had read, "and bring your
working clothes."
By nine o'clock more than half the automatic machines were busy, and
women were still arriving.
"The canteen's going again," ran the report up and down the aisles.
At half past ten the old gong sounded in the lathe room, and the old tea
wagon began its old-time trundling. In addition to refreshments each
woman received a rose-bud--"From Miss Spencer. With thanks and best
wishes."
"Do you know if the piano's here yet?" asked a brisk looking matron in
sky blue overalls.
"Yep," nodded the tea girl. "When I came through, they were taking the
cover off it, and fixing up the rest room."
"Isn't it good to be back again!" said the brisk young matron to her
neighbour. "Believe me or not, I haven't seen a dancing floor since I
quit work here."
Mrs. Ridge had been appointed forewoman. Just before noon she reported to
Mary.
"There'll be a lot more tomorrow," she said. "When these get home,
they'll do nothing but talk about it; and I keep hearing of women who
are fixing things up at home so they can come in the morning. So don't
you worry, Miss Spencer, this strike isn't going to hurt you none,
but--Ha-ha-ha!--Excuse me," she said, suddenly checking her mirth again
and looking very red and solemn.
"I like to hear you laugh," said Mary, "but what's it about this time!"
"Mrs. Strauss is here. I told you she would be. She left her husband home
to do the housework and today is washday--that's the funny part of it!"
Whatever Mrs. Ridge's ability as a critic of humour might be, at least
she was a good prophet. Nearly all the machines were busy the next
morning, and new arrivals kept dropping in throughout the day.
Mary began to breathe easy, but not for long.
"I don't want to be a gloom," reported Archey, "but the lathe hands are
trying to get the grinders to walk out. They say the men must stick
together, or they'll all lose their jobs."
She looked thoughtful at that.
"I think we had better get the nursery ready," she said. "Let's go and
find the painters."
It was a pleasant place--that nursery--with its windows overlooking the
river and the lawn. In less than half an hour the painters had spread
their sheets and the teamster had gone for a load of white sand. The cots
and mattresses were put in the sun to air. The toys had been stored in
the nurse's room. These were now brought out and inspected.
"I think I'll have the other end of the room finished off as a
kindergarten," said Mary. "Then we'll be able to take care of any
children up to school age, and their mothers won't have to worry a bit."
She showed him where she wished the partition built, and as he ran his
rule across the distance, she noticed a scar across the knuckles of his
right hand.
"That's where I dressed it, that time," she thought. "Isn't life queer!
He was in France for more than a year, but the only scar that I can see
is the one he got--that morning--"
Something of this may have shown in her eyes for when Archey straightened
and looked at her, he blushed ("He'll never get over that!" thought
Mary)--and hurried off to find the carpenters.
These preparations were completed only just in time.
On Thursday she went to New York to select her kindergarten equipment. On
Friday a truck arrived at the factory, filled with diminutive chairs,
tables, blackboards, charts, modelling clay, building blocks, and more
miscellaneous items than I can tell you. And on Saturday morning the
grinders sent a committee to the office that they could no longer labour
on bearings which had passed through the hands of women workers.
Mary tried to argue with them.
"When women start to take men's jobs away--" began one of the committee.
"But they didn't," she said. "The men quit."
"When women start to take men's jobs away from them," he repeated, "it's
time for the men to assert themselves."
"We know that you mean well, Miss Spencer," said another, "but you are
starting something here that's bad. You're starting something that will
take men's work away from them--something that will make more workers
than there are jobs."
"It was the war that started it," she pleaded, "not I. Now let me ask you
something. There is so much work that has to be done in the world every
day; isn't there?"
"Yes, I guess that's right."
"Well, don't you see? The more people there are to do that work, the
easier it will be for everybody."
But no, they couldn't see that. So Mary had to ring for Joe to bring in
the old employment cards again, and that night and all day Sunday, Mrs.
Ridge's company spread the news that four hundred more women were wanted
at Spencer & Son's--"and you ought to see the place they've got for
looking after children," was invariably added to the mothers of tots,
"free milk, free nurses, free doctoring, free toys, rompers, little
chairs and tables, animals, sand piles, swings, little pails and
shovels--you never saw anything like it in your life--!"
If the tots in question heard this, and were old enough to understand,
their eyes stood out like little painted saucers, and mutely then or
loudly they pleaded Mary's cause.