“He’s the head of our union, Mr. Bennington,” interposed one of the men, shifting his feet uneasily.

“Oh!  Then he’s the man who is really making all this trouble?” Bennington nodded as if he had just arrived at a solution.

“I’m here to see that my men have their rights.”  Morrissy failed to understand this mild young man.  “And it’ll take a bigger man than you to throw me out of here.  This Britisher either joins the union or he goes.”

“If he joins the union he’ll be permitted to continue the perfecting of his invention?”

“His invention is not necessary at present.  The output as it is meets the demand.”

“Look here, Mr. Morrissy, I’ll make you a proposition.”

“What?”

“You and I will go down to the molding-room and have it out with our fists.  If you win, Chittenden goes; if I win, he stays and the men return to work.”

“This isn’t no kid’s play, Mr. Bennington.  You’ve got a big strike looking you in the face.”

Bennington laughed.  “I’m afraid you’re a coward.  So Mr. Chittenden must join the union or go.  It isn’t a question of wage scale or hours; it simply revolves around Mr. Chittenden.  Supposing he joins the union, what will you give him to do?” Bennington’s voice was that of a man who wishes to know all sides of the question.

“Well, he’ll have to learn where they all started from.”

“Mr. Chittenden is an expert machinist.”

“Let him join the union, then, and there won’t be any trouble here.  I want justice.  This shop is union, and no non-union man can work here.  I want justice, that’s all.”

“You’ll get that all in good time, Mr.—­ah—?”

“Morrissy.”

“Mr. Morrissy.  Mr. Chittenden, are you willing to join the union?” Bennington smiled as he plied this question.

“Not I!  My word, I’d as lief starve as become a union man, and under such a master.  I prize my manhood and independence above all things.  I have already refused to join.  I never take back what I say.”

“Neither do I, Mr. Chittenden.”  Bennington stood up.

“Then out he goes,” said Morrissy, recovering his truculence.

“On what authority?” Bennington’s voice was growing milder and milder.  “On what authority?” he repeated.

“On mine!” cried Morrissy.

“You are mistaken.  I am master here.  Mr. Chittenden will remain on the pay-roll.”

“Then in ten minutes the men will walk out on my orders.  You’re making a big mistake, Mr. Bennington.”

“That is for me to judge.”

“Ten minutes to make up your mind.”  Morrissy made a gesture toward his watch.

“Don’t bother about the time, Mr. Morrissy.  We’ll spend the ten minutes in the molding-room.”

Morrissy turned pale.

“Oh, we shan’t come to fisticuffs, Mr. Morrissy.  I am a gentleman, and you are not.  Not a word!” as Morrissy clenched his fists.  “Mr. Shipley,” said Bennington to one of the committee, “will you get all the men together?  I have a few words to say to them before this ten minutes is up.  I want to give the men a fair show.”