But if a fellow went to him with some new kind of a loom,
would he look at it? Not he! The old's good enough."
"Hear that, Pop?" put in Dale, exchanging a meaning glance with his
father.
"And look at the way they house the mill hands here, putting a fellow
like Dale with his cleanness and his brains and his possibilities, into
a dump like this. They don't recognize the human element in industries
of this sort or what it's worth to them. Why, there's no argument any
more as to the increased efficiency from giving better living
conditions--but I'll bet Norris hasn't heard of it."
"We haven't been here long enough to know--" Mrs. Lynch began gently but
Dale interrupted her, his voice rough.
"It isn't Norris alone, Adam. You've got to go further up--it's the
House of Forsyth. They're feudal lords--or like to think they are. Do
you suppose it mattered much up there, when the little Castle girl had
her arm crushed in that old wheel last month and died because her body
wasn't nourished enough to stand under the amputation? A lot they
cared--just one bit of machinery gone for a day--another--"
"_Dale_--" cried Mrs.
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