“My son has rightly determined to adhere to the policy established many years ago.  He has determined that unionism shall not be permitted to enter Bonbright Foote, Incorporated. ...  I state your sentiments, do I not, my son?”

At the direct challenge Bonbright raised his eyes to his father’s face appealingly.  “Father—­” he said.

“I state your position?” his father said, sternly.

Against Bonbright’s will he felt the accumulated power of the family will, the family tradition.  He had been reared in its shadow.  Its grip lay firm upon him.  Struggle he might, but the strength to defy was not yet in him. ...  He surrendered, feeling that, somehow, his private soul had been violated, his individuality rent from him.

“Yes,” he said, faintly.

“The first step he has decided upon,” said his father, “and one which should be immediately repressive.  It is to post in every room and department of the shops printed notices to the effect that any man who affiliates himself with organized labor, or who becomes a member of a so-called trade-union, will be summarily dismissed from his employment. ...  That was the wording you suggested, was it not?”

“Yes,” said Bonbright, this time without struggle.

“Hangar,” said Mr. Foote, “my son directs that these cards be printed at once, and put in place before noon.  It can be done, can it not?”

“Yes, sir,” said Rangar.

“I think that is all, gentlemen. ...  You understand my son’s position, I believe, so that if anyone questions you can answer him effectively?”

The department heads stirred uneasily.  Some turned toward the door, but one man cleared his throat.

“Well, Mr. Hawthorne?” said the head of the business.

“The men seem very determined this time.  I’m afraid too severe action on our part will make trouble.”

“Trouble?”

“A strike,” said Hawthorne.  “We’re loaded with contract orders, Mr. Foote.  A strike at this time—­”

“Hangar,” said Mr. Foote, sharply, “at the first sign of such a thing take immediate steps to counteract it. ...  Better still, proceed now as if a strike were certain.  These mills must continue uninterruptedly. ...  If these malcontents force a strike, Mr. Hawthorne, we shall be able to deal with it. ...  Good morning, gentlemen.”

The men filed out silently.  It seemed as if they were apprehensive, almost as if they ventured to disagree with the action of their employers.  But none voiced his disapproval.

Bonbright stood without motion beside his father’s desk, his eyes on the floor, his lips pressed together.

“There,” said his father, with satisfaction, “I think that will set you right.”

“Right?...  The men will think I was among them last night as a spy!...  They’ll despise me. ...  They’ll think I wasn’t honest with them.”

Bonbright Foote VI shrugged his shoulders.  “Loyalty to your family,” he said, “and to your order is rather more important than retaining the good will of a mob of malcontents.”