Mary Minds Her Business Part 24

"He's just gone out," said Joe.

"Mr. Burdon, then."

"Mr. Burdon sent word he wouldn't be down today. He's gone to New York."

Mary thought that over.

"Joe," she said. "There are four women working in the automatic shop. I wish you'd go and bring them here." And turning to the committee she said, "I think there must be some way of settling this to everybody's satisfaction, if we all get together and try."

It wasn't long before the four women came in, and again it struck Mary how nervous and bewildered three of them looked. The fourth, however, held her back straight and seemed to walk more than upright.

"Now," smiled Mary to the spokesman of the committee, "won't you tell me, please, what fault you find with these four women?"

"As I understand it," he replied, "we are not here to argue the point.

Same time, I don't see the harm of telling you what we think about it.

First place, it isn't natural for a woman to be working in a factory."

"Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, if you don't mind me speaking out, because she has babies."

"But the war has proved a baby is lucky to have its mother working in a modern factory," replied Mary. "The work is easier than housework, the surroundings are better, the matter is given more attention. As a result, the death rate of factory babies has been lower than the death rate of home babies. Don't you think that's a good thing? Wouldn't you like to see it go on?"

"Who says factory work is easier than housework?"

"The women who have tried both. These four, for instance."

"Well, another thing," he said, "a woman can't be looking after her children when she's working in a factory."

"That's true. But she can't be looking after them, either, when she's washing, or cooking, or doing things like that. They lie and cry--or crawl around and fall downstairs--or sit on the doorstep--or play in the street.

"Now, here, during the war," she continued, "we had a day nursery. You never saw such happy children in your life. Why, almost the only time they cried was when they had to go home at night!" Mary's eyes brightened at the memory of it. "Didn't your son's wife have a baby in the nursery, Mr. Edsol?"

"Two," he solemnly nodded.

"For another thing," said the chairman, "a woman is naturally weaker than a man. You couldn't imagine a woman standing up under overtime, for instance."

"Oh, you shouldn't say that," said Mary earnestly, "because everybody knows that in the human family, woman is the only one who has always worked overtime."

Here the third member of the committee muttered a gruff aside. "No use talking to a woman," said he.

"You be quiet, I'm doing this," said the chairman. "Another thing that everybody knows," he continued to Mary, "a woman hasn't the natural knack for mechanics that a man has."

"During the war," Mary told him, "she mastered nearly two thousand different kinds of skilled work--work involving the utmost precision. And the women who did this weren't specially selected, either. They came from every walk of life--domestic servants, cooks, laundresses, girls who had never left home before, wives of small business men, daughters of dock labourers, t.i.tled ladies--all kinds, all conditions."

She told him, then, some of the things women had made--read him reports--showed him pictures.

"In fact," she concluded, "we don't have to go outside this factory to prove that a woman has the same knack for mechanics that a man has.

During the war we had as many women working here as men, and every one will tell you that they did as well as the men."

"Well, let's look at it another way," said the chairman, and he nodded to his colleagues as though he knew there could be no answer to this one.

"There are only so many jobs to go around. What are the men going to do if the women take their jobs?"

"That's it!" nodded the other two. All three looked at Mary.

"I used to wonder that myself," she said, "but one day I saw that I was asking the wrong question. There is just so much work that has to be done in the world every day, so we can all be fed and clothed, and have those things which we need to make us happy. Now everybody in this room knows that 'many hands make light work.' So, don't you see? The more who work, the easier it will be for everybody."

But the spokesman only smiled at this--that smile which always meant to Mary, "No use talking to a woman"--and aloud he said, "Well, as I told you before, we weren't sent to argue. We only came to tell you what the automatic hands were going to do if these four women weren't laid off."

"I understand," said Mary; and turning to the four she asked, "How do you feel about it?"

"I suppose we'll have to go," said Mrs. Ridge, her face red but her back straighter then ever. "I guess it was our misfortune, Miss Spencer, that we were born women. It seems to me we always get the worst end of it, though I'm sure I don't know why. I did think once, when the war was on, that things were going to be different for us women after this. But it seems not.... You've been good to us, and we don't want to get you mixed up in any strike, Miss Spencer.... I guess we'd better go...."

Judge Cutler's expression returned to Mary's mind: "Another year like this and, barring strikes and accidents, Spencer & Son will be on its feet again--" Barring strikes! Mary was under no misapprehension as to what a strike might mean....

"I want to get this exactly right," she said, turning to the chairman again. "The only reason you wish these women discharged is because they are women, is that it?"

"Yes; I guess that's it, when you come right down to it."

"Do you think it's fair?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Spencer, but it's not a bit of use arguing any longer.

If these four women stay, the men in our department quit: that's all."

Mary looked up at the pictures of her forbears who seemed to be listening attentively for her answer.

"Please tell the men that I shall be sorry--very sorry--to see them go,"

she said at last, "but these four women are certainly going to stay."

CHAPTER XXIV

From one of the windows of Mary's office, she could see the factory gate.

"If they do go on strike," she thought, "I shall see them walk out."

She didn't have to watch long.

First in groups of twos and threes, and then thick and fast, the men appeared, their lunch boxes under their arms, all making for the gate.

Some were arguing, some were joking, others looked serious. It struck Mary that perhaps these latter were wondering what they would tell their wives.

"I don't envy them the explanation," she half smiled to herself.

But her smile was short-lived. In the hallway she heard a step and, turning, she saw Uncle Stanley looking at her.

"What's the matter with those men who are going out?" he asked.