“Resentment?” said Bonbright.  “You see I am new to the business and to this.  What is it they resent?”

“They resent being exploited for the profit of men like yourself. ...  They resent your having the power of life and death over them. ...”

The girl stood looking from one man to the other; from Dulac, tall, picturesquely handsome, flamboyant, conscious of the effect of each word and gesture, to Bonbright, equally tall, something broader, boyish, natural in his unease, his curiosity.  She saw how like he was to his slender, aristocratic father.  She compared the courtesy of his manner toward Dulac with Dulac’s studied brusqueness, conscious that the boy was natural, honest, really endeavoring to find out what this thing was all about; equally conscious that Dulac was exercising the tricks of the platform and utilizing the situation theatrically.  Yet he was utilizing it for a purpose with which she was heart and soul in sympathy.  It was right he should do so. ...

“I wish we might sit down and talk about it,” said Bonbright.  “There seem to be two sides in the works, mine and father’s—­and the men.  I don’t see why there should be, and I’d like to have you tell me.  You see, this is my first day in the business, so I don’t understand my own side of it, or why I should have a side—­much less the side of the men.  I hadn’t imagined anything of the sort. ...  I wish you would tell me all about it.  Will you?”

The boy’s tone was so genuine, his demeanor so simple and friendly, that Dulac’s weapons were quite snatched from his hands.  A crowd of the men he was sent to organize was looking on—­a girl was looking on.  He felt the situation demanded he should show he was quite as capable of courtesy as this young sprig of the aristocracy, for he knew comparisons were being made between them.

“Why,” said he, “certainly. ...  I shall be glad to.”

“Thank you,” said Bonbright.  “Good night.”  He turned to the girl and lifted his hat.  “Thank you,” said he, and eyes in which there was no unfriendliness followed him as he walked away, eyes of men whom Dulac was recruiting for the army of the “other side” of the social struggle.

He hurried home because he wanted to see his father and to discuss this thing with him.

“If there is a conflict,” he said to himself, “in our business, workingmen against employer, I suppose I am on the employer’s side.  They have their reasons.  We must have our reasons, too.  I must have father explain it all to me.”

His mother called to him as he was ascending the stairs: 

“Be as quick as you can, Bonbright.  We have guests at dinner to-night.”

“Some one I know?”

“I think not,” His mother hesitated.  “We were not acquainted when you went to college, but they have become very prominent in the past four years. ...  Mr. and Mrs. Malcolm Lightener—­and their daughter,”

Bonbright noticed the slight pause before the mention of the daughter, and looked quickly at his mother.  She looked as quickly away.