The music-publisher was talking with some vehemence on the subject of Labour.  A recent printers’ strike had bitten deeply into Mr. Blumenthal’s soul.  The working man, he considered, was rapidly landing God’s Country in the soup, and he had twice upset his glass with the vehemence of his gesticulation.  He was an energetic right-and-left-hand talker.

“The more you give ’em the more they want!” he complained.  “There’s no pleasing ’em!  It isn’t only in my business.  There’s your father, Mrs. Moffam!”

“Good God!  Where?” said Archie, starting.

“I say, take your father’s case.  He’s doing all he knows to get this new hotel of his finished, and what happens?  A man gets fired for loafing on his job, and Connolly calls a strike.  And the building operations are held up till the thing’s settled!  It isn’t right!”

“It’s a great shame,” agreed Lucille.  “I was reading about it in the paper this morning.”

“That man Connolly’s a tough guy.  You’d think, being a personal friend of your father, he would—­”

“I didn’t know they were friends.”

“Been friends for years.  But a lot of difference that makes.  Out come the men just the same.  It isn’t right!  I was saying it wasn’t right!” repeated Mr. Blumenthal to Archie, for he was a man who liked the attention of every member of his audience.

Archie did not reply.  He was staring glassily across the room at two men who had just come in.  One was a large, stout, square-faced man of commanding personality.  The other was Mr. Daniel Brewster.

Mr. Blumenthal followed his gaze.

“Why, there is Connolly coming in now!”

“Father!” gasped Lucille.

Her eyes met Archie’s.  Archie took a hasty drink of ice-water.

“This,” he murmured, “has torn it!”

“Archie, you must do something!”

“I know!  But what?”

“What’s the trouble?” enquired Mr. Blumenthal, mystified.

“Go over to their table and talk to them,” said Lucille.

“Me!” Archie quivered.  “No, I say, old thing, really!”

“Get them away!”

“How do you mean?”

“I know!” cried Lucille, inspired, “Father promised that you should be manager of the new hotel when it was built.  Well, then, this strike affects you just as much as anybody else.  You have a perfect right to talk it over with them.  Go and ask them to have dinner up in our suite where you can discuss it quietly.  Say that up there they won’t be disturbed by the—­the music.”

At this moment, while Archie wavered, hesitating like a diver on the edge of a spring-board who is trying to summon up the necessary nerve to project himself into the deep, a bell-boy approached the table where the Messrs. Brewster and Connolly had seated themselves.  He murmured something in Mr. Brewster’s ear, and the proprietor of the Cosmopolis rose and followed him out of the room.