The silence was deep.  Peterson, leaning against the closed door, held his breath; Max, sitting on the railing with his elbow thrown over the desk, leaned slightly forward.  The eyes of the laborers wandered restlessly about the room.  They were disturbed, taken off their guard; they needed Grady.  But the thought of Grady was followed by the consciousness of the silent figure of the new man, James, standing behind them.  Murphy’s first impulse was to lie.  Perhaps, if James had not been there, he would have lied.  As it was, he glanced up two or three times, and his lips as many times framed themselves about words that did not come.  Finally he said, mumbling the words:—­

“No, we ain’t voted for no strike.”

“There has been no such decision made by your organization?”

“No, I guess not.”

Bannon turned to Peterson.

“Mr. Peterson, will you please find Mr. Grady and bring him here.”

Max and Peterson hurried out together.  Bannon drew up the chair, and turned his back on the committee, going on with his figuring.  Not a word was said; the men hardly moved; and the minutes went slowly by.  Then there was a stir outside, and the sound of low voices.  The door flew open, admitting Grady, who stalked to the railing, choking with anger.  Max, who immediately followed, was grinning, his eyes resting on a round spot of dust on Grady’s shoulder, and on his torn collar and disarranged tie.  Peterson came in last, and carefully closed the door—­his eyes were blazing, and one sleeve was rolled up over his bare forearm.  Neither of them spoke.  If anything in the nature of an assault had seemed necessary in dragging the delegate to the office, there had been no witnesses.  And he had entered the room of his own accord.

Grady was at a disadvantage, and he knew it.  Breathing hard, his face red, his little eyes darting about the room, he took it all in—­the members of the Committee; the boss, figuring at the table, with an air of exasperating coolness about his lean back; and last of all, James, standing in the shadow.  It was the sight of the new man that checked the storm of words that was pressing on Grady’s tongue.  But he finally gathered himself and stepped forward, pushing aside one of the committee.

Then Bannon turned.  He faced about in his chair and began to talk straight at the committee, ignoring the delegate.  Grady began to talk at the same time, but though his voice was the louder, no one seemed to hear him.  The men were looking at Bannon.  Grady hesitated, started again, and then, bound by his own rage and his sense of defeat, let his words die away, and stood casting about for an opening.

“—­This man Grady threatened a good while ago that I would have a strike on my hands.  He finally came to me and offered to protect me if I would pay him five thousand dollars.”

“That’s a lie!” shouted the delegate.  “He come to me—­”