"I should like to feel that we had this extra surplus. I
believe that we owe it to our operatives."
The director had walked heavily to the window and put his hands deep
into his side-pockets. He had an angry sense that the agent's hands
were in his pockets too.
"I've got some pride about that nine per cent., sir," he said loftily
to the agent.
"So have I," said the agent, and the two men looked each other in the
face.
"I acknowledge my duty to the stockholders," said the younger man
presently. "I have tried to remember that duty ever since I took the
mills eight years ago, but we've got an excellent body of operatives,
and we ought to keep them. I want to show them this next year that we
value their help. If times aren't as bad as we fear we shall still
have the money--"
"Nonsense. They think they own the mills now," said the director, but
he was uncomfortable, in spite of believing he was right. "Where's my
hat? I must have my luncheon now, and afterward there'll hardly be
time to go down and look at the new power-house with you--I must be
off on the quarter-to-two train."
The agent sighed and led the way. There was no use in saying anything
more and he knew it. As they walked along they met old Mrs. Kilpatrick
returning from her brief noonday meal with little Maggie, whose
childish face was radiant. The old woman recognized one of the
directors and dropped him a decent curtsey as she had been taught to
salute the gentry sixty years before.
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