Timothy.  Well, it’s them that has to do the hard work, sir.  There was a meeting last night, I understand, with Rench and Hillman and a delegate come from Newcastle making speeches, the only way they’d get their rights would be for you to recognize the union.

Asher.  I’ll never recognize a union!  I won’t have any outsiders, meddlers and crooks dictating my business to me.

Timothy.  I’ve been with you thirty years, come December, Mr. Pindar, and you’ve been a good employer to me.  I don’t hold with the unions—­you know it well, sir, or you wouldn’t be asking me advice.  I’m telling you what they’re saying.

Asher.  I didn’t mean to accuse you,—­you’ve been a good and loyal employee—­that’s why I sent for you.  Find out what their game is, and let me know.

Timothy.  It’s not a detective I am, Mr. Pindar.  I’m a workman meself.  That’s another thing they’re saying, that you’d pay detectives to go among them, like workingmen.

Asher (impatiently).  I’m not asking you to be a detective,—­I only want you to give me warning if we are to have a strike.

Timothy.  I’ve warned you, sir,—­if it’s only for the sake of beating the Germans, the dirty devils.

George (turning to Bert).  Well, here’s wishing you luck, Bert, and hoping we’ll meet over there.  I know how you feel,—­you want to be in it, just as I do.

Asher (turning).  Perhaps I said more than I meant to, Bert.  I’ve got to turn out these machines in order that our soldiers may have shrapnel to fight with, and what with enlistments and the determination of unscrupulous workmen to take advantage of the situation, I’m pretty hard pressed.  I can’t very well spare steady young men like you, who have too much sense and too much patriotism to mix yourselves up with trouble makers.  But I, too, can understand your feeling,—­I’d like to be going myself.  You might have consulted me, but your place will be ready for you when you come back.

Bert.  Thank you, sir. (He turns his hat over in his hands.) Maybe it would be fair to tell you, Mr. Pindar, that I’ve got a union card in my pocket.

Asher.  You, Timothy Farrell’s son!

Timothy.  What’s that?  And never a word to me!

Bert (to Timothy).  Why wouldn’t I join the union?  I took out the card this morning, when I see that that’s the only way we’ll get what’s coming to us.  We ain’t got a chance against the, employers without the union.

Timothy.  God help me, to think my son would join the union,—­and he going to be a soldier!

Bert (glancing at George).  I guess there’ll be other union men in the trenches besides me.

Asher.  Soldier or no soldier, I’ll never employ any man again who’s joined a union.

George (perturbed).  Hold on, dad!