ll operatives personally?"

"No," says J. Q., "and I have no desire to. I haven't been inside one of
our mills in fifteen years."

"I see," says Eggy. "You keep in touch with your employees
through--er--your bankbook? But is it fair to judge them as men and
women wholly on their ability to produce dividends for you?"

"As an employer of labor, what other test would you have me apply?" says
J. Q.

"Then you are classing them with machines," says Eggy.

"No," says Mr. Hubbard. "I can depend upon my looms not to go on
strike."

"But you own your looms," says Eggleston. "Your loom tenders are human
beings."

"When they mob strike breakers they behave more like wild animals, and
then you've got to treat 'em as such," raps back J. Q.

"Are you quite certain that the standards of humanity you set up are
just?" asks Eggy. "You know people are beginning to question your
absolute right to fix arbitrarily the hours and wages and conditions of
labor. They are suggesting that your mills produce tuberculosis as well
as cloth. They are showing that, in your eagerness for dividends, you
work women and children too long, and that you don't pay them a living
wage."

"Rot!" snorts J. Q. "These are all the mushy theories of
sentimentalists. What else are these foreigners good for?"

"Ah, there you get to it!" says Eggy. "Aren't they too valuable to be
ground up in your dusty mills? Can they not be made into useful
citizens?"

"No, they can't," snaps Mr. Hubbard. "It's been tried too often. Look at
the results. Who fill our jails? Foreigners! Who swarm in our filthy
city slums? Foreigners! They are the curse of this country. Look at the
wretched mob you have brought about your heels to-day, those outside
there. There's a sample."

"If you only would look and understand!" says Eggleston. "Won't
you--now? It will take only a little of your time, and I'll promise to
keep them in order. Oh, if you'd only let me!"

"Let you what?" demands J. Q., starin' puzzled.

"Introduce a few of them to you properly," says Eggy; "only four or
five. Come, a handful of simple-minded peasants can't hurt you. They're
poor, and ignorant, and not especially clean, I'll admit; but I'll keep
them at a proper distance. You see, I want to show you something about
them. Of course, you're afraid you'll lose your cherished
prejudices----"

"I'm afraid of nothing of the sort," breaks in Mr. Hubbard. "Go on. Have
'em up, if McCabe is willing."

"Eh?"