“It’s our friend Grady.  He’s come down to business at last.  He wants money.”

Hilda was quietly signalling Max to come away, and Bannon, observing it, broke off to speak to them.  “Don’t go,” he said.  “We’ll have a brief council of war right here.”  So Hilda was seated on the nail keg, while Bannon, resting his elbows on the top of a spile which projected waist high through the floor of the wharf, expounded the situation.

“You understand his proposition,” he said, addressing Hilda, rather than either of the men.  “It’s just plain blackmail.  He says, ’If you don’t want your laborers to strike, you’ll have to pay my price.’”

“Not much,” Pete broke in.  “I’d let the elevator rot before I’d pay a cent of blackmail.”

“Page wouldn’t,” said Bannon, shortly, “or MacBride, neither.  They’d be glad to pay five thousand or so for protection.  But they’d want protection that would protect.  Grady’s trying to sell us a gold brick.  He hated us to begin with, and when he’d struck us for about all he thought we’d stand, he’d call the men off just the same, and leave us to waltz the timbers around all by ourselves.”

“How much did he want?”

“All he could get.  I think he’d have been satisfied with a thousand, but he’d come ’round next week for a thousand more.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him that a five-cent cigar was a bigger investment than I cared to make on him and that when we paid blackmail it would be to some fellow who’d deliver the goods.  I said he could begin to make trouble just as soon as he pleased.”

“Seems to me you might have asked for a few days’ time to decide.  Then we could have got something ready to come at him with.  He’s liable to call our men out tonight, ain’t he?”

“I don’t think so.  I thought of trying to stave him off for a few days, but then I thought, ’Why, he’ll see through that game and he’ll go on with his scheme for sewing us up just the same.’  You see, there’s no good saying we’re afraid.  So I told him that we didn’t mind him a bit; said he could go out and have all the fun he liked with us.  If he thinks we’ve got something up our sleeve he may be a little cautious.  Anyway, he knows that our biggest rush is coming a little later, and he’s likely to wait for it.”

Then Hilda spoke for the first time.  “Has he so much power as that?  Will they strike just because he orders them to?”

“Why, not exactly,” said Bannon.  “They decide that for themselves, or at least they think they do.  They vote on it.”

“Well, then,” she asked hesitatingly, “why can’t you just tell the men what Mr. Grady wants you to do and show them that he’s dishonest?  They know they’ve been treated all right, don’t they?”

Bannon shook his head.  “No use,” he said.  “You see, these fellows don’t know much.  They aren’t like skilled laborers who need some sense in their business.  They’re just common roustabouts, and most of ’em have gunpowder in place of brains.  They don’t want facts or reason either; what they like is Grady’s oratory.  They think that’s the finest thing they ever heard.  They might all be perfectly satisfied and anxious to work, but if Grady was to sing out to know if they wanted to be slaves, they’d all strike like a freight train rolling down grade.