ain't had no meetin' to settle just
what raise we _are_ goin' to git. Now, Mr. Gibson, if I was runnin' this
factory--

GIBSON: Well, what would you do?

RILEY: The first thing I'd do, I'd see that the truck drivers didn't
have no more discontent than nobody else. What becomes of your freight
if you can't run no trucks? You got to look out, Mr. Gibson! It's us got
the upper hand.

GIBSON: Go call your meeting and find out what raise you're going to
strike for.

RILEY: Yes, sir; I'll do it. [_He goes out quickly._]

NORA: [_amazed and rather gentle_]: Are you going to give them what they
want?

GIBSON: No; I only wanted to get rid of him a minute to think--or try
to.

NORA [_in a low voice, offended_]: Oh, excuse me! [_She is going out._]

GIBSON: Stay here! [_He seems to approach a decision--one of desperation
and anger. Then he speaks crisply, but more to himself than to_ NORA.]
All right--they get it! [_Looks up at_ NORA, _gives her a frowning stare
of some duration._] Tell Riley to call off his meeting, please. I want
all those spokesmen for the departments here. I'll give them their
answer now.

[NORA _looks at him, puzzled, bites her lip, and goes out
quickly into the factory._ GIBSON'S _expression is determined;
so is his action. He goes to the wall, brings two chairs, one
in each hand, places them at the large table. Repeats this
until he has chairs placed at the table on both sides and at
the head as if for a directors' meeting. The door opens and_
SALVATORE, MIFFLIN, CARTER, RILEY, SHOMBERG, FRANKEL, _and_
SIMPSON _enter. They come in, speaking together; most of them
talking somewhat ominously._]

CROWD: Well, he better!... We ain't workin' for our health.... My whole
department'll walk out!... You bet your life we're goin' to!... He
needn't kid himself about our not meaning business!

FRANKEL: Well, Mr. Gibson, we'd like to know what conclusion you come
to.

GIBSON: I'm going to tell you. Simpson, please ask Miss Gorodna to step
in.

[SIMPSON _merely looks out of the door, and_ NORA _comes in
quickly._]

Carter, take that chair at the head of the table. Frankel, Salvatore,
Shomberg, sit there, and there, and there! Riley, sit there. Simpson,
there! Miss Gorodna, will you please sit here? [_They take the seats he
indicates, but they look puzzled, somewhat perturbed; whisper and murmur
to one another._] Thank you! There! That looks like