l and a
Company Commander. I know an officer when I see him. But a brass hat
don't make a General."

"I won't stand for insubordination in my mills, Gilby. You must take
orders from my foreman. You know me, Gilby. You've been long enough with
me for that."

"You treat a man fair, Mr. Maitland, and I never kicked at your orders.
Ain't that so?"

Maitland nodded.

"But this young dude--"

"'Dude'? What do you mean, 'dude'? He's no dude!"

"Oh, he's so stuck on himself that he gives me the wearisome willies.
Look here, other folks has been to the war. He needn't carry his chest
like a blanked bay window."

"Look here, Gilby, just quit swearing in this room." The cold blue eyes
bored into Gilby's hot face.

"I beg pardon, sir. It's a bad habit I've got, but that--that Tony
Perrotte has got my goat and I'm through with him."

"All right, Gilby. If you don't like your job you know what you can do,"
said Maitland coldly.

"You mean I can quit?" enquired Gilby hotly.

"I mean there's only one boss in these works, and that's me. And my
foreman takes my orders and passes them along. Those that don't like
them needn't take them."

"We demand our rights as--" began Mr. Wigglesworth heatedly.

"Excuse me, sir. 'A should like to enquir-r-e if it is your-r or-rder-rs
that your-r for-r-man should use blasphemious language to your-r men?"

The cool, firm, rasping voice cut through Mr. Wigglesworth's sputtering
noise like a circular saw through a pine log.

Mr. Maitland turned sharply upon the speaker.

"What is your name, my man?" he enquired.

"Ma name is Malcolm McNish. 'A doot ye have na har-r-d it. But the name
maitters little. It's the question 'A'm speerin'--asking at ye."

Here was no amateur in the business of Grievance Committees. His manner
was that of a self-respecting man dealing with a fellow-man on terms of
perfect equality. There was a complete absence of Wigglesworth's noisy
bluster, as also of Gilby's violent profanity. He obviously knew his
ground and was ready to hold it. He had a case and was prepared to
discuss it. There was no occasion for heat or bluster or profanity. He
was prepared to discuss the matter, man to man.

Mr. Maitland regarded him for a moment or two with keen steady gaze.

"Where do you work, McNish?" he enquired of the Scot.

"A'm workin' the noo in the sawmill. A'm a joiner to trade."

"Then Perrotte is not your foreman?"

"That is true," said McNish quietly.

"Then