good and all. Then, when he's out of the way, you'll
have to work for any sort of wages they are willing to give you. Good
gracious, the scheme is plain enough! Why can't you see it as it is--a
plot to do him up through you? A woman can see the inside of it easily
enough!"

But her sensible argument was wasted on the men, who already had their
opinions formed, and were not likely to change them readily at a word.

"Women have no place in business," Schmidt reiterated, heavily. "We have
proved that. Now, Mr. Hamilton, you just keep your wife to yourself. We
don't want her meddling around in our concerns. And we'll keep our wives
to ourselves. They don't want you!" he added significantly; and McMahon
and Ferguson endorsed the sentiment by vigorous nods of assent. "So,"
the German concluded, "we will settle this strike ourselves, like men,
without any more woman's interference. Am I right?"

"That's exactly what I want you to do," Hamilton replied. "And any time
you want to come back with the cut, let me know."

"I hope you won't hold your breath while you're waiting," the Irishman
advised grimly.

"And I hope you won't be hungry," Hamilton retorted.

With this exchange of civilities, the meeting between the men and their
former employer came to an abrupt end. Without any further farewells
than a series of curt nods, the men filed from the room.

"I'm thinking that it's a pleasant talk we'll be having together, this
night," Mrs. McMahon remarked judicially, after the departure of the
committee. "So, it's thinking I am that we'd better start early, and
then we'll have time a plenty to thrash it out with the boys. Good-by,
Mrs. Hamilton.... And please to remember that the next meeting of the
club is to be on the Thursday."

"I'll surely be there," Cicily promised.

The adieux were quickly spoken, and the women took their departure,
leaving husband and wife alone together, standing silently.

CHAPTER XVI

Hamilton stirred presently, turned, and threw himself heavily into the
nearest chair, whence he stared curiously at his wife with morose eyes
of resentment. Cicily felt the scrutiny, but she did not lift her gaze
to his. She was not shirking the conflict between them, which seemed
inevitable after this last episode; but she was minded to let her
husband begin the attack. In her turn, she sought a chair, into which
she sank gracefully, and rested in a pose of languid indifference that
was fascinating in i