were
greeted by the unusual and unwelcome sound of a rap upon the
communicating door. Instinctively he braced himself for an unpleasant
encounter before replying. It was his experience that the Governor's
room was like to Nazareth of old, in that no good might be expected to
issue therefrom. Nevertheless, as Governor Abbott entered, in response
to Barclay's "Come!" it was difficult to believe that he was aught but
what he appeared to be,--a courteous, conspicuously well-dressed and
white-haired gentleman, of sixty or thereabouts, smooth-shaven save for
chop side-whiskers of iron gray, with a habit of rubbing his hands, and
an inclination from the hips forward which suggested a floor-walker. In
brief, the Governor of Alleghenia seemed the type of a man who turns
sideways and slips through narrow places, rather than run the risk of
barking his elbows by a face-front advance. In reality he was somewhat
less pliable than a steel rail.

"You are going?" he asked, seeing how Barclay was employed.

"I was thinking of it," replied the Lieutenant-Governor. "Of course, if
there is anything"--

Governor Abbott seated himself on the edge of the desk, holding a lapel
of his coat in each hand, and surveyed his subordinate from under his
drooping eyelids, with his head cocked on one side.

"I believe you know Peter Rathbawne," he said.

"I do. I am engaged to his elder daughter."

"Ah! That is what I thought."

The Governor looked contemplatively at the ceiling, closing his right
eye, and nibbling behind his pursed lips.

"Peter Rathbawne," he said, "is the second most obstinate man in Kenton
City, if not in Alleghenia. I'm afraid he thinks he is the _most_
obstinate. If so, he does me an injustice. His mills are the largest in
the state. I am told that when they are running full strength they
employ over four thousand hands."

"Something like that number, I believe," put in Barclay, as the Governor
seemed to expect a reply.

"Ah! It is a pity for such an industry as that to be tied up on account
of one man's obstinacy."

"I had not heard"--began Barclay; but Governor Abbott continued
steadily, disregarding the interruption.

"Yesterday morning Mr. Rathbawne discharged fifteen employees on the
ground of incompetency. It is hard to see exactly what Mr. Rathbawne
means by 'incompetency.' These men were not newcomers. Some of them had
been in the mills for as much as eighteen months. It seems as if he
might have discovered the alleged incompetency long ago. It is more or
less arbitrary, one might say, this discharging men by wholesale, as it
were."

"I suppose," commented Barclay, "that a man may do as he will with his
own."

"Ah!" said the Governor, lifting his hands from his lapels with a little
gesture of deprecation, but immediately replacing them. "But _can_ he? A
man in Peter Rathbawne's position has a responsibility to fulfill toward
the community. He cannot beggar men for a caprice--because his horse has
gone lame, or his breakfast has not agreed with him. He must show
reasons--give an accounting. He must be fair."

"Oh, when it comes to fairness," laughed the other, "I assure you,
Governor Abbott, you won't find Mr. Rathbawne's equal this side of the
Pacific. He's famous for square dealing."

"He _has_ been," corrected the Governor. "In the present instance he
seems to have fallen below standard. He has declined to reconsider his
decision in the case of the discharged men. What's worse, he has flatly
refused to see the committee appointed by the Union."

"I'm not surprised at that," said Barclay slowly, fingering a
paper-cutter on the desk before him. "Mr. Rathbawne is peculiar in one
respect; he supports and considers the Union in every other. But he has
always insisted upon his right to discharge the hands at will, and
without giving reasons. Incompetency is only a word which is used to
cover more serious causes."

"Well, he's wrong," said the Governor, with a heat unusual to him.
"He's dead wrong, Mr. Barclay, and he will find it out before he's a day
older."

"Do you mean"--

"I mean that if the men in question are not taken back before to-morrow
noon, every man, woman, and child in the employ of the Rathbawne Mills
will be out on strike. The question is, what is Peter Rathbawne prepared
to do?"

The silence that followed was broken only by the tap, tap, tap of the
Lieutenant-Governor's paper-cutter on the silver-mounted blotter.
Presently he looked up and met the Governor's eye.

"If you want _my_ opinion, sir," he answered, "it is that Mr. Rathbawne
would fight such a point to a standstill. He's sole owner of the mills,
and he's a rich man. He has always treated his employees as if they were
his own children. If they turn on him now for something which, from
their experience of his character, they must know was fair and
justifiable"--

"But _was_ it?" interrupted the Governor.

"I don't know the facts, sir, but I know Peter Rathbawne," said Barclay,
throwing back his head, "and I can say, with clear conviction, that it
_must_ have been. If, as you suggest, the hands go out, I think he would
close down the mills for a year, and go abroad. He's a man who doesn't
argue; he simply acts. I fancy there wouldn't be much opposition left by
the time he wanted to reopen."

"Provided always that there were anything left to reopen," suggested the
Governor softly.

"The state troops have more than once proved their ability to assure the
sanctity of property," answered his subordinate, with a touch of the old
pride with which he had assumed office.

"Hum!" said Governor Abbott. "But calling out the militia is a serious
matter, Mr. Barclay, to say nothing of the expense entailed. Considering
that the difficulty would be due entirely to the obstinacy of one
man--er--one might not feel justified"--

He hesitated briefly under the Lieutenant-Governor's keen glance, and
then swerved from this line of suggestion.

"What I wanted to say was this: You are a friend of Mr.
Rathbawne's,--something more than a friend, indeed. No doubt he has a
respect for your opinion, as you have for his. Now, if in the course of
a quiet chat--it will have to be to-night--you should point out the
situation that threatens him, the distress that a strike will cause, the
probable destruction of his property, perhaps he might consent to
reinstate the discharged men to-morrow morning."

"It would be a surrender of principle, to which he would never consent,"
said Barclay firmly. "Of that I am sure. Moreover, sir, I should be
speaking against my convictions were I to advise him to adopt such a
course."

The Governor's lip wrinkled slightly.

"The Union is prepared to do the right thing by the man who settles this
question," he said.

"I hope you don't mean that!" exclaimed Barclay. "You are the first man
to make such a suggestion to me. Pardon me, Governor Abbott, but I
cannot but think the executive chamber of the capitol of Alleghenia a
singular place for it to be mentioned."

The Governor held up his hand.

"You misunderstand me," he said. "One would suppose I had offered you a
purse! I mean simply that the popularity of the man who averts this
strike will be an assured fact. He would be the idol of the working
people, and hardly less esteemed by the element of capital. Moreover, he
would be doing a humane and merciful thing. You are the only man who is
in a position to approach Rathbawne, and, if you will excuse the
suggestion, I think you can hardly afford to throw away the chance. As
it is, you--er--you are not what might be called popular, Mr. Barclay."

This time the silence was broken by a single sharp little
click--the latch of the connecting door slipping into place. The
Lieutenant-Governor sank slowly into his revolving chair, tipped back,
swung round a half circle, and stared out disconsolately over the
sloping lawns of the capitol grounds, mottled with thin patches of
snow.




II

THE ODDS AGAINST YOUNG NISBET


Young Nisbet leaned forward in his chair.

"And I've been thinking," he added, "that perhaps--that perhaps"--

"That perhaps what?" asked the junior Miss Rathbawne, leaning forward in
hers.

"If I don't have tea _instantly_," said her mother, with profound
conviction, as she came ponderously through the portiиres, tugging at
her gloves, "I shall expire! How de do, Mr. Nisbet. _Do_ sit up
straight, Dorothy, my dear."

She sank heavily into a low chair, which brought her within the radius
of lamp-light at the tea-table, and was thus revealed as a lady of
generous proportions, with a conspicuous absence of features, and no
observable lap. In speaking, she displayed a marked partiality for undue
emphasis. Sublimely unconscious of the depression induced by her
advent, she continued to talk, as she pulled off her gloves, which were
a size too small, and came away with reluctance, leaving imprints of the
stitching on her pudgy pink hands.

Young Nisbet surveyed her with a kind of mute despair. He was a very
average young American, very conventionally in love, and the trifling
remnant of self-assertiveness which had triumphed over the crescent
humility natural to his condition inevitably evaporated into thin air at
the approach of Mrs. Rathbawne; and always, as he was doing now, he
turned in his toes excessively when she was present, hitched at his
right trouser-leg, where the crease passed over his knee, and looked
first at her, and then at the floor, and then at her again, with the
purposeless regularity of a mechanical toy.

There was a tremendous and highly significant rattling of cups, saucers,
and silver spoons, as Dorothy Rathbawne prepared her mother's tea. All
things considered, one found something very admirable about Dorothy at
such a time as this. It was not complete submission, still less was it
open revolt, but savored of both, and was incomparable as an attitude
toward Mrs. Rathbawne. On some occasions it was almost as impossible to
get on with Mrs. Rathbawne as it would have been, on others, to get on
without her. The which, nowadays, is more or less true of all parents.
And children.

"Natalie and your Aunt Helen got out at the florist's," went on the good
lady, "but I came straight on, and sent the carriage back for them. I
felt that I _couldn't_ exist an _instant_ longer without my tea. I'm
sure I don't see how Natalie _stands_ it. She was out all morning in the
brougham, too. You had best make enough for three cups, Dorothy--and
_do_ sit up straight, my dear!--and order Thomas to bring in some more
tartines. They are _sure_ to be hungry, and they are apt to come in at
_any_ moment."

"That is a family failing," said Dorothy venomously, from behind the
kettle.

"Well, I'm _sure_, my dear," said Mrs. Rathbawne innocently, as she
straightened her rings, and picked an imaginary speck out of one of her
round, flat nails, "there is no disgrace at all in a healthy appetite.
I'm thankful we all have it--though as for your Aunt Helen, _hers_ is
about like that of a fly."

"Flies have very good appetites--judging from all I've seen, that is,"
said Dorothy, "so I don't think she is to be commiserated on that
account."

"That was only a figure of speech, my dear," replied Mrs. Rathbawne,
with engaging placidity. "Mercy! but I'm glad to get home. We've had a
positively _exhausting_ day with Natalie's shopping, and the _worst_ of
it is to think what a _lot_ more there is to do. A wedding certainly
_is_ an undertaking, Mr. Nisbet."

"Is it?" answered young Nisbet, perceptibly startled at being thus
abruptly included in the conversation.

"Decidedly!" asseverated Mrs. Rathbawne.

"Of course, in the case of an _ordinary_ man"--

"Two lumps, mother?"

"_Always_ two lumps, Dorothy, my dear. Surely you must know that, by
this time! As I was _saying_, Mr. Nisbet, the fact that my elder
daughter is to marry Mr. Barclay"--

Dorothy's eyebrows went up resignedly as she bent with affected
solicitude over the alcohol lamp, than which none ever burned more
blamelessly. There was no stopping Mrs. Rathbawne now!