The agent went home late that noon from the counting-room. The street
was nearly empty, but he had no friendly look or word for anyone whom
he passed. Those who knew him well only pitied him, but it seemed to
the tired man as if every eye must look at him with reproach. The long
mill buildings of gray stone with their rows of deep-set windows wore
a repellent look of strength and solidity. More than one man felt
bitterly his own personal weakness as he turned to look at them. The
ocean of fate seemed to be dashing him against their gray walls--what
use was it to fight against the Corporation? Two great forces were in
opposition now, and happiness could come only from their serving each
other in harmony.
The stronger force of capital had withdrawn from the league; the
weaker one, labor, was turned into an utter helplessness of idleness.
There was nothing to be done; you cannot rebel against a shut-down,
you can only submit.
A week later the great wheel stopped early on the last day of work.
Almost everyone left his special charge of machinery in good order,
oiled and cleaned and slackened with a kind of affectionate lingering
care, for one person loves his machine as another loves his horse.
Even little Maggie pushed her bobbin-box into a safe place near the
overseer's desk and tipped it up and dusted it out with a handful of
waste. At the foot of the long winding stairs Mrs. Kilpatrick was
putting away her broom, and she sighed as she locked the closet door;
she had known hard times before.
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