In a day or two he was able to force himself to work steadily, unremittingly again.  The formula of his patent medicine, with which he was to cure the ills of capital-labor, was taking definite shape, and the professor was enthusiastic.  Not that the professor felt any certainty of effecting a permanent cure; he was enthusiastic over it as a huge, splendid experiment.  He wanted to see it working and how men would react to it.  He had even planned to write a book about it when it should have been in operation long enough to show what its results would be.

Bonbright was sure.  He felt that it would bridge the gulf between him and his employees—­that gulf which seemed now to be growing wider and deeper instead of disappearing.  Mershon’s talk was full of labor troubles, of threatened strikes, of consequent delays.

“We can finish thirty days ahead of schedule,” he said to Bonbright, “if the unions leave us alone.”

“You think I ought to recognize them,” Bonbright said.  “Well, Mr. Mershon, if labor wants to cut its own throat by striking—­let it strike.  I’m giving it work.  I’m giving it wages that equal or are higher than union scale.  They’ve no excuse for a strike.  I’m willing to do anything within reason, but I’m going to run my own concern.  Before I’ll let this plant be unionized I’ll shut it down.  If I can’t finish the new shops without recognizing the unions, then they’ll stand as they are.”

“You’re the boss,” said Mershon, with a shrug.  “Do you know there’s to, be a mass meeting in the armory to-night?  I think the agitator people are going to try to work the men up to starting trouble.”

“You think they’ll strike?”

“I know they will.”

“All the men, or just the steel workers and bricklayers and temporary employees on the new buildings?”

“I don’t know. ...  But if any of them go out it’s going to make things mighty bad.”

“I’ll see what can be done,” said Bonbright.

The strike must be headed off if possible.  It would mean a monstrously costly delay; it might mean a forfeiture of his contract with Lightener.  It might mean that he had gone into this new project and expended hundreds of thousands of dollars to equip for the manufacture of engines in vain. ...  The men must not strike.

There seemed no way to avert it but to surrender, and that Bonbright did not even consider. ...  He called in the professor.

“The plan is practically complete, isn’t it?” he asked.

“I’d call it so.  The skeleton is there and it’s covered with flesh.  Some of the joints creak a little and maybe there’s an ear or an eyebrow missing. ...  But those are details.”

Bonbright nodded.  “We’ll try it out,” he said.  “To-night there’s a mass meeting—­to stir our men up to strike.  They mustn’t strike, and I’m going to stop them—­with the plan.”

“Eh?” said the professor.

“I’m going to the meeting,” said Bonbright.