The next morning Wally was a little better.
He was still unconscious, but thanks to the surgeon his breathing was
less laboured and he was resting more quietly. Mary had stayed with Helen
overnight, and more than once it had occurred to her that even as it
requires darkness to bring out the beauty of the stars, so in the shadow
of overhanging disaster, Helen's better qualities came into view and
shone with unexpected radiance.
"I know..." thought Mary. "It's partly because she's sorry, and partly
because she's busy, too. She's doing the most useful work she ever did in
her life, and it's helping her as much as it's helping him--"
They had a day nurse, but Helen had insisted upon doing the night work
herself. There were sedatives to be given, bandages to be kept moist.
Mary wanted to stay up, too, but Helen didn't like that.
"I want to feel that I'm doing something for him--all myself," she said,
and with a quivering lip she added, "Oh, Mary... If he ever gets over
this...!"
And in the morning, to their great joy, the doctor pronounced him a
little better. Mary would have stayed longer, but that was the day when
the labour leaders were to visit the factory; so after hearing the
physician's good report, she started for the office.
At ten o'clock she telephoned Helen who told her that Wally had just
fallen off into his first quiet sleep.
"I'm going to get some sleep myself, now, if I can," she added. "The
nurse has promised to call me when he wakes."
Mary breathed easier, for some deep instinct told her that Wally would
come through it all right. She was still smiling with satisfaction when
Joe of the Plumed Hair came in with three cards, the dignity of his
manner attesting to the importance of the names.
"All right, Joe, send them in," she said. "And I wish you'd find Mr.
Forbes and Mr. Woodward, and tell them I would like to see them."
"Mr. Woodward hasn't come down yet, but I guess I know where Mr. Forbes
is--"
He disappeared and returned with the three callers.
Mary arose and bowed as they introduced themselves, meanwhile studying
them with tranquil attentiveness.
"The judge was right," she told herself. "I like them." And when they sat
down, there was already a friendly spirit in the air.
"This is a wonderful work you are doing here, Miss Spencer," said one.
"You think so?" she asked. "You mean for the women to be making
bearings?"
"Yes. Weren't you surprised yourself when your idea worked out so well?"
"But it wasn't my idea," she said. "It was worked out in the war--oh,
ever so much further than we have gone here. We are only making bearings,
but when the war was on, women made rifles and cartridges and shells,
cameras and lenses, telescopes, binoculars and aeroplanes. I can't begin
to tell you the things they made--every part from the tiniest screws as
big as the end of this pin--to rough castings. They did designing, and
drafting, and moulding, and soldering, and machining, and carpentering,
and electrical work--even the most unlikely things--things you would
never think of--like ship-building, for instance!
"Ship-building! Imagine!" she continued.
"Why, one of the members of the British Board of Munitions said that if
the war had lasted a few months longer, he could have guaranteed to build
a battleship from keel to crow's-nest--with all its machinery and
equipment--all its arms and ammunition--everything on it--entirely by
woman's labour!
"So, you see, I can't very well get conceited about what we are doing
here--although, of course, I am proud of it, too, in a way--"
She stopped then, afraid they would think she was gossipy--and she let
them talk for a while. The conversation turned to her last advertisement.
"Are you sure your figures are right?" asked one. "Are you sure your
women workers are turning out bearings so much cheaper than the men did?"
"They are not my figures," she told them. "They are taken from an audit
by a firm of public accountants."
She mentioned the name of the firm and her three callers nodded with
respect.
"I have the report here," she said--and showed them the table of
comparative efficiency.
"Remarkable!" said one.
"It only confirms," said Mary, "what often happened during the war."
"Perhaps you are working your women too hard."
"If you would like to go through the factory," said Mary, "you can judge
for yourselves."
Archey was in the outer office and they took him with them. They began
with the nursery and went on, step by step, until they arrived at the
shipping room.
"Do you think they are overworked?" asked Mary then.
The three callers shook their heads. They had all grown rather silent as
the tour had progressed, but in their eyes was the light of those who
have seen revelations.
"As happy a factory as I have ever seen," said one. "In fact, it makes it
difficult to say what we wanted to say."
They returned to the office and when they were seated again, Mary said,
"What is it you wanted to say?"
"We wanted to talk to you about the strike. As we understand your
principle, Miss Spencer, you regard it as unfair to bar a woman from any
line of work which she may wish to follow--simply because she is a
woman."
"That's it," she said.
"And for the same reason, of course, no man should be debarred from
working, simply because he's a man."
They smiled at that.
"Such being the case," he continued, "I think we ought to be able to find
some way of settling this strike to the satisfaction of both sides. Of
course you know, Miss Spencer, that you have won the strike. But I think
I can read character well enough to know that you will be as fair to the
men as you wish them to be with the women."
"The strike was absolutely without authority from us," said one of the
others. "The men will tell you that. It was a mistake. They will tell you
that, too. Worse than a mistake, it was silly."
"However, that's ancient history now," said the third. "The present
question is: How can we settle this matter to suit both sides?"
"Of course I can't discharge any of the women," said Mary thoughtfully,
"and I don't think they want to leave--"
"They certainly don't look as if they did--"
"I have another plan in mind," she said, more thoughtfully than before,
"but that's too uncertain yet.... The only other thing I can think of is
to equip some of our empty buildings and start the men to work there.
Since our new prices went into effect we have been turning business
away."
"You'll do that, Miss Spencer?"
"Of course the men would have to do as much work as the women are doing
now--so we could go on selling at the new prices."
"You leave that to us--and to them. If there's such a thing as pride in
the world, a thousand men are going to turn out as many bearings as a
thousand women!"
"There's one thing more," said the second; "I notice you have raised your
women's wages a dollar a day. Can we tell the men that they are going to
get women's wages?"
They laughed at this inversion of old ideas.
"You can tell them they'll get women's wages," said Mary, "if they can do
women's work!"
But in spite of her smile, for the last few minutes she had become
increasingly conscious of a false note, a forced conclusion in their
plans--had caught glimpses of future hostilities, misunderstandings,
suspicions. The next remark of one of the labour leaders cleared her
thoughts and brought her back face to face with her golden vision.
"The strike was silly--yes," one of the leaders said. "But back of the
men's actions I think I can see the question which disturbed their minds.
If women enter the trades, what are the men going to do? Will there be
work enough for everybody?"
Even before he stopped speaking, Mary knew that she had found herself,
knew that the solid rock was under her feet again.
"There is just so much useful work that has to be done in the world every
day," she said, "and the more hands there are to do it, the quicker it
will get done."
That was as far as she had ever gone before, but now she went a step
farther.
"Let us suppose, for instance, that we had three thousand married men
working here eight hours a day to support their families. If now we allow
three thousand women to come out of those same homes and work side by
side with the men--why, don't you see?--the work could be done in four
hours instead of eight, and yet the same family would receive just the
same income as they are getting now--the only difference being that
instead of the man drawing all the money, he would draw half and his wife
would draw half."
"A four hour day!" said one of the leaders, almost in awe.
"I'm sure it's possible if the women help," said Mary, "and
I know they want to help. They want to feel that they are doing
something--earning something--just the same as a man does. They want to
progress--develop--
"We used to think they couldn't do men's work," she continued. "I used to
think so, myself. So we kept them fastened up at home--something like
squirrels in cages--because we thought housework was the only thing they
could do....
"But, oh, how the war has opened our eyes!...
"There's nothing a man can do that a woman can't do--nothing! And now the
question is: Are we going to crowd her back into her kitchen, when if we
let her out we could do the world's work in four hours instead of eight?"
"Of course there are conditions where four hours wouldn't work," said one
of the leaders half to himself. "I can see that in many places it might
be feasible, but not everywhere--"
"No plan works everywhere. No plan is perfect," said Mary earnestly.
"I've thought of that, too. The world is doing its best to progress--to
make people happier--to make life more worth living all the time. But no
single step will mark the end of human progress. Each step is a step:
that's all...
"Take the eight hour day, for instance. It doesn't apply to women at
all--I mean house women. And nearly half the people are house women. It
doesn't apply to farmers, either; and more than a quarter of the people
in America are on farms. But you don't condemn the eight hour day--do
you?--just because it doesn't fit everybody?"
"A four hour day!" repeated the first leader, still speaking in tones of
awe.
"If that wouldn't make labour happy," said the second, "I don't know what
would."
"Myself, I'd like to see it tried out somewhere," said the third. "It
sounds possible--the way Miss Spencer puts it--but will it work?"
"That's the very thing to find out," said Mary, "and it won't take long."
She told them about the model bungalows.
"I intended to try it with twenty-five families first," she said, taking
a list from her desk. "Here are the names of a hundred women working
here, whose husbands are among the strikers. I thought that out of these
hundred families, I might be able to find twenty-five who would be
willing to try the experiment."
The three callers looked at each other and then they nodded approval.
"So while we're having lunch," she said, "I'll send these women out to
find their husbands, and we'll talk to them altogether."
It was half past one when Mary entered the rest room with her three
visitors and Archey. Nearly all the women had found their men, and they
were waiting with evident curiosity.
As simply as she could, Mary repeated the plan which she had outlined to
the leaders.
"So there you are," she said in conclusion. "I want to find twenty-five
families to give the idea a trial. They will live in those new
bungalows--you have probably all seen them.
"There's a gas range in each to make cooking easy. They have steam heat
from the factory--no stoves--no coal--no ashes to bother with. There's
electric light, refrigerator, bathroom, hot and cold water--everything I
could think of to save labour and make housework easy.
"Now, Mrs. Strauss, suppose you and your husband decide to try this new
arrangement. You would both come here and work till twelve o'clock, and
the afternoons you would have to yourselves.
"In the afternoons you could go shopping, or fishing, or walking, or
boating, or skating, or visiting, or you could take up a course of study,
or read a good book, or go to the theatre, or take a nap, or work in your
garden--anything you liked....
"In short, after twelve o'clock, the whole day would be your own--for
your own development, your own pleasure, your own ideas--anything you
wanted to use it for. Do you understand it, Mrs. Strauss?"
"Indeed I do. I think it's fine."
"Is Mr. Strauss here? Does he understand it?"
"Yes, I understand it," said a voice among the men. Assisted by his
neighbours he arose. "I'm to work four hours a day," he said, "and so's
the wife. Instead of drawing full money, I draw half and she draws half.
We'd have to chip in on the family expenses. Every day is to be like
Saturday--work in the morning and the afternoon off. Suits me to a dot,
if it suits her. I always did think Saturday was the one sensible day in
the week."
A chorus of masculine laughter attested approval to this sentiment and
Mr. Strauss sat down abashed.
"Well, now, if you all understand it," said Mary, "I want twenty-five
families who will volunteer to try this four-hour-a-day arrangement--so
we can see how it works. All those who would like to try it--will they
please stand up?"
Presently one of the labour leaders turned to Mary with a beaming eye.
"Looks as though they'll have to draw lots," said he... "They are all
standing up...!"