Therefore he must begin, not at the beginning, but deeper than the beginning.  He could not start fairly, but under a handicap so great as to make his chances of winning all but negligible. ...  It would be useless to tell his men that he had been but a figurehead.  For him the only course was to blot out what had gone—­to forget it—­and to start against odds to win their confidence.  It would be better to let them slowly come to believe he was a convert-that there had been a revolution in his heart and mind.  Indeed, there was no other way.  He must show them by daily studied conduct that he was not what they feared he was. ...

He did not know what he was himself.  His contact with Malcolm Lightener’s workingmen had given him certain sympathies with the theories and hopes of labor; but they had made him certain of fallacies and unsoundness in other theories and ambitions.  He was not the romantic type of wealthy young man who, in stories, meets the under dog and loves him, and is suddenly converted from being an out-and-out capitalist to the most radical of socialists.  It was not in him to be radical, for he was steadied by a quietly running balance wheel. ...  He was stubborn, too.  What he wanted was to be fair, to give what was due—­and to receive what was his due. ...  He could not be swayed by mawkish sentimental sympathy, nor could he be bullied.  Perhaps he was stiff-necked, but he was a man who must judge of the right or wrong of a condition himself.  Perhaps he was too much that way, but his experiences had made him so.

If his men tried to bulldoze him they would find him immovable.  What he believed was right and just he would do; but he had his own set notions of right and justice.  He was sympathetic.  His attitude toward the five thousand was one of friendliness.  He regarded them as a charge and a responsibility.  He was oppressed by the magnitude of the responsibility. ...  But, on the other hand, he recognized that the five thousand were under certain responsibilities and obligations to him.  He would do his part, but he would demand their part of them.

His father had been against unions.  Bonbright was against unions.  His reason for this attitude was not the reason of his father.  It was simply this:  That he would not be dictated to by individuals who he felt were meddling in his affairs.  He had arrived at a definite decision on this point:  his mills should never be unionized. ...  If his men had grievances he would meet with them individually, or committees sent by them-committees of themselves.  He would not treat with so-called professional labor men.  He regarded them as an impertinence.  Whatever differences should arise must be settled between his men and himself—­with no outside interference.  This was a position from which nothing would move him. ...  It will be seen he was separated by vast spaces from socialism.