m, resolute hand of the new manager. Deep down
in his heart there was an abiding admiration and affection for Jack
Maitland, but he loathed discipline and kicked against it.

The first of May is ever a day of uncertainty and unrest in the world
of labour. It is a time for readjustment, for the fixing of wage scales,
for the assertion of labour rights and the ventilating of labour wrongs.
It is a time favourable to upheaval, and is therefore awaited by all
employers of labour with considerable anxiety.

On the surface there was not a ripple to indicate that as far as the
Maitland Mills were concerned there was beneath a surging tide of
unrest. So undisturbed indeed was the surface that the inexperienced
young manager was inclined to make light of the anxieties of his father,
and was confident in his assurance that the danger of a labour crisis
had, for the present at least, been averted.

Out of the blue heaven fell the bolt. The mails on May Day morning
brought to the desk of every manager of every industry in Blackwater,
and to every building contractor, a formal document setting forth in
terms courteous but firm the demands of the executives of the allied
unions of Blackwater.

"Well, it has come, boy," was Maitland's greeting to his son, who came
into the office for the usual morning consultation.

"What?" said Jack.

"War," replied his father, tossing him the letter and watching his face
as he read it.

Jack handed him the letter without a word.

"Well, what do you think of it?" said his father.

"It might be worse."

"Worse?" roared his father. "Worse? How can it be worse?"

"Well, it is really a demand for an increase in wages. The others, I
believe, are mere frills. And between ourselves, sir, though I haven't
gone into it very carefully, I am not sure but that an increase in wages
is about due."

Maitland glowered at his son in a hurt and hopeless rage.

"An increase in wages due?" he said. "After the increase of six months
ago? The thing is preposterous. The ungrateful scoundrels!"

At this point the telephone upon his desk rang. Jack took up the
receiver.

"Good morning, Mr. McGinnis. . . . Yes, he is here. Yes. . . . At least,
I suppose so. . . . Oh, I don't know. . . . It is rather peremptory.
. . . All right, sir, I shall tell him."

"Let me talk to him," said his father, impatiently.

"Never mind just now, Dad," said Jack, with his hand over the receiver.
Then through the telephone he