e, they filed in and stood ill at ease.

"Well, Wigglesworth, what is it?" said Grant Maitland curtly.

Mr. Wigglesworth cleared his throat. He was new at the business and
was obviously torn between conflicting emotions of pride in his present
important position and a wholesome fear of his "boss." However, having
cleared his throat, Mr. Wigglesworth pulled himself together and with a
wave of the hand began.

"These 'ere--er--gentlemen an' myself 'ave been (h)appinted a
Committee to lay before you certain grievances w'ich we feel to be very
(h)oppressive, sir, so to speak, w'ich, an' meanin' no offence, sir, as
men, fellow-men, as we might say--"

"What do you want, Wigglesworth? What's your trouble? You have some
trouble, what is it? Spit it out, man," said the boss sharply.

"Well, sir, as I was a-sayin', this 'ere's a Committee (h)appinted to
wait on you, sir, to lay before you certain facts w'ich we wish you to
consider an' w'ich, as British subjecks, we feel--"

"Come, come, Wigglesworth, cut out the speech, and get at the things.
What do you want? Do you know? If so, tell me plainly and get done with
it."

"We want our rights as men," said Mr. Wigglesworth in a loud voice, "our
rights as free men, and we demand to be treated as British--"

"Is there anyone of this Committee that can tell me what you want
of me?" said Maitland. "You, Gilby, you have some sense--what is the
trouble? You want more wages, I suppose?"

"I guess so," said Gilby, a long, lean man, Canadian born, of about
thirty, "but it ain't the wages that's eatin' me so much."

"What then?"

"It's that blank foreman."

"Foreman?"

"That's right, sir." "Too blanked smart!" "Buttin' in like a blank billy
goat!" The growls came in various undertones from the Committee.

"What foreman? Hoddle?" The boss was ready to fight for his subalterns.

"No! Old Hoddle's all right," said Gilby. "It's that young smart aleck,
Tony Perrotte."

"Tony Perrotte!" Mr. Maitland's voice was troubled and uncertain. "Tony
Perrotte! Why, you don't mean to tell me that Perrotte is not a good
man. He knows his job from the ground up."

"Knows too much," said Gilby. "Wants to run everything and everybody.
You can't tell him anything. And you'd think he was a Brigadier-General
to hear him giving us orders."

"You were at the front, Gilby?"

"I was, for three years."

"You know what discipline is?"

"I do that, and I know too the difference between a Corpora