"I say, go to the Manor!" cried a man who had not been at the Mills more
than a month.
A strapping girl, with a coarse prettiness, laughed a mocking strident
laugh that expressed the feelings of the crowd even more than the louder
curses around her. The workers slowly dispersed, in little groups,
talking in excited, angry tones. Dale Lynch detached himself from one of
these groups and walked on alone, a frown darkening his face; nor did he
shake off his absorption even after he sat down at the table to eat his
mother's good Saturday meal--overcooked for standing.
"Has Adam been to Norris again?" asked big Danny.
Dale nodded. It was not necessary for either his father or mother to ask
the outcome of the call. "Norris wouldn't listen to a word. I've been
wondering if Adam is right--about the way to get this."
"He ought to know more'n you do," flared big Danny, who loved something
upon which to vent his own rancor.
"I suppose." Dale admitted, eating with quick, absent-minded gulps. "I'd
like to be the head of these Mills--I'd see both sides and make the
other fellow see, too."
"Sure, it's wonderful you'd be," murmured Mrs.
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