The Story of Leather Part 8

So it was agreed.

Events shaped themselves rapidly. Within an hour Mr. Coddington, seated in his perfectly appointed office, received word that a deputation of his men respectfully requested an interview with him that afternoon.

He was thunderstruck.

What did the demand foreshadow? Was a strike brewing? The men had appeared perfectly satisfied with the working conditions at the tanneries. Wages were fairly high and the factories conformed to every requirement of the Health and Labor Laws.

He touched a bell.

"Ask Tyler to step here," said he, frowning.

Mr. Tyler entered hastily.

"What's all this, Tyler?" demanded his chief. "I hear the men want to see me."

"I know nothing about it, sir. They've kept their own council. If they have a grievance they have not told me."

"No labor agitators have been in town recently?"

"Not to my knowledge, Mr. Coddington."

"That will do."

Tyler went out.

Again Mr. Coddington rang.

"I will see the men at three o'clock," he said to a messenger.

Left alone the president paced the floor. Business was good. The books showed a quant.i.ty of unfilled orders. It would be an awkward time for a strike.

"Undoubtedly I could get strike-breakers from Chicago," he murmured aloud, "but it would take time. Besides, I do not want my men to walk out. Think of the years many of them have worked here! The town will be full of idle persons and suffering families. I have never had a strike in all the history of my business. I've always tried to do what was fair toward those who were in my employ. That is what cuts--to be square with your men and then have them meet you with ingrat.i.tude. Why, I would have staked my oath that they would have stood by me. I'm disappointed--disappointed!"

With such unpleasant reflections as companions three o'clock came none too speedily for Mr. Coddington. The men were ushered promptly into the office and the door closed. Then an awkward silence ensued. n.o.body knew exactly whose place it was to speak first.

But if the tanners had expected the president of the company to break the ice and open the interview they had missed their calculations, for he did no such thing. He met their gaze firmly, courteously, but silently.

Peter, who stood at the back of the room behind the older workmen, saw in his father's face an unaccustomed sternness and felt instinctively that their mission was destined to failure.

It was Bryant who at last summoned courage to begin the conference.

"Mr. Coddington," he said, "we men have come to you because we wish to hear the truth concerning a rumor that has reached us. We come respectfully. You are our chief--the one who, in the past, has always been fair and square with us. It is because of your justice that we address you now. Is it true that you propose to take the vacant field opposite Factory 1 for the site of a new building?"

As Mr. Coddington drew a sigh of relief he inclined his head.

"You have been correctly informed," he a.s.sented. "We need more room. The land is lying idle with a tax to be paid yearly upon it. It seems to me an economic plan to utilize the s.p.a.ce for a new factory in which the patent leather department may be housed."

"Did you realize, in deciding, that the field you intend to take is the recreation ground of the men in your mills?" asked Bryant.

"I know that some of the men play ball there," replied Mr. Coddington, smiling.

"And yet you have decided to take it in spite of that fact?"

The president stiffened.

"The land," said he, "is mine, and the taxes I annually pay on it render it rather a costly spot for a ball field. For years the lot has been nothing but an expense to me. If the case were yours and you could derive an income from property where previously all had been outgo wouldn't you do it?"

"But do you need that income, Mr. Coddington?" cut in one of the men.

"Isn't the Coddington Company rich? Must rich men go on getting more and more, and never think of those who coin their money for them?"

It was an unwise speech, and its effect was electrical.

"I will try and believe that you men came here with the intention of being courteous," observed Mr. Coddington with frigid politeness. "My affairs, however, are mine and not yours. I must deal with them in the way that I consider wisest. You hardly realize, I think, that you are over-stepping the bounds of propriety when you attempt to dictate to me what I shall do with my land, or how I shall manage my tanneries."

The sternness of the answer blocked any possible reply.

Amid the silence of the room one could almost hear the heart-beats of the waiting throng.

Then some one in the crowd made his way to the front of the room and faced the president.

It was Peter Strong.

As Mr. Coddington's gaze fell on his son he started.

The boy stood erect and looked his father squarely in the eye.

"May I speak, sir?"

Mr. Coddington bowed.

Peter began gently, respectfully, and his words were without defiance.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "MAY I SPEAK, SIR?"]

"I hardly think you know what the field you are going to take from the men--from us all--means, sir. Not only do we play ball and go there to eat our luncheon but each noon time we have a chance to get a breath of fresh air and go back to work better in consequence. The field, moreover, is the only open lot in this part of the town. At night hundreds of men who have worked hard all day congregate there to get sight of the green gra.s.s and enjoy a little interval of quiet. They bring their families from the huddled districts where there is neither sky, tree, nor breathing s.p.a.ce. Suppose you lived as they do? Suppose when you went home at night it was to a tenement in a crowded part of the city? You return to a big house on the top of a hill where the trees catch every breeze that pa.s.ses; where there are shrubs, gardens, flowers. Who needs this s.p.a.ce more--you or your employees?"

When he began to speak, Peter had had no clear idea of what he should say; but as he went on words came to him. Was not he himself one of these working men who knew what the heat, the odor, the noise of the tanneries meant? As he went on his voice vibrated with earnestness.

There was no doubting his sincerity. It was in truth Peter Strong and not Peter Coddington who made the appeal.

As Mr. Coddington listened without comment to the speech his wordlessness was an enigma to the men. It seemed as if it was a silence of suppressed anger and in consternation Carmachel plucked Peter's sleeve.

"Say no more, lad," he whispered. "You've gone too far. You forget that it is the president himself you're talking to. You shouldn't have said what you did, even though it's true."

But Peter scarcely heard.

He was watching his father--watching his face for the gleam that did not come.

"I will consider what you have said, Strong," replied Mr. Coddington after a pause. "I will acknowledge that I was ignorant of the fact that the spot meant anything to the people of the community. If the conditions are as you say we may be able to find a solution for the problem. May we consider this interview at an end?"