arings."

In vain Uncle Stanley arose to his feet, and argued, and reasoned, and
sat down again, and brought his fist down on his knee, and turned a rich,
brown colour. After a particularly eloquent period he caught a sight of
Mary's face among the roses--calm, cool and altogether unmoved--and he
stopped almost on the word.

"That's having a woman, in business," he bitterly told himself. "Might as
well talk to the wind. Never mind ... It may take a little longer--but in
the end...."

Judge Cutler made a minute in the director's book that all work on
improvements was to stop at once.

"And now," he said, "the next thing is to speed up the manufacture of
bearings."

"Easily said," Uncle Stanley shortly laughed.

"There must be some way of doing it," persisted the judge, taking the
argument on himself again. "Why did our earnings fall down so low last
year?"

"Because I can manufacture bearings, but I can't manufacture men,"
reported Uncle Stanley. "We are over three hundred men short, and it's
getting worse every day. Let me tell you what munition factories are
paying for good mechanics--"

Mary still sat in her wicker chair, back of the flowers, and looked
around at the paintings on the walls--of the Josiah Spencers who had
lived and laboured in the past. "They all look quiet, as though they
never talked much," she thought. "It seems so silly to talk, anyhow, when
you know what you are going to do."

But still the argument across the desk continued, and again Uncle Stanley
began to gain his point.

"So you see," he finally concluded, "it's just as I said a few minutes
ago. I can manufacture bearings, but I can't manufacture men!"

From behind the roses then a patient voice spoke.

"You don't have to manufacture men. We don't need them."

Uncle Stanley gave the judge a look that seemed to say, "Listen to the
woman of it! Lord help us men when we have to deal with women!" And aloud
in quite a humouring tone he said, "We don't need men? Then who's to do
the work?"

Mary moved the vase so she could have a good look at him.

"Women," she replied. "They can do the work. Yes, women," said she.

Again they looked at each other, those two, with the careful glance with
which you might expect two duellists to regard each other--two duellists
who had a premonition that one day they would surely cross their swords.
And again Uncle Stanley was the first to look away.

"Women!" he thought. "A fine muddle there'll