t by grace of her
association with him she was there, a spectator of the toil beneath? Yet
the terror persisted. She, presently, would step out of the noise, the
oppressive moist heat of the drawing and spinning rooms, the constant,
remorseless menace of whirling wheels and cogs and belts. But they?...
She drew closer to Caldwell's side.

"I never knew--" she said. "It must be hard to work here."

He smiled at her, reassuringly.

"Oh, they don't mind it," he replied. "It's like a health resort
compared to the conditions most of them live in at home. Why, there's
plenty of ventilation here, and you've got to have a certain amount of
heat and moisture, because when cotton is cold and dry it can't be drawn
or spin, and when it's hot and dry the electricity is troublesome. If
you think this moisture is bad you ought to see a mill with the old
vapour-pot system with the steam shooting out into the room. Look here!"
He led Janet to the apparatus in which the pure air is forced through
wet cloths, removing the dust, explaining how the ventilation and
humidity were regulated automatically, how the temperature of the room
was controlled by a thermostat.

"There isn't an agent in the country who's more concerned about the
welfare of his operatives than Mr. Ditmar. He's made a study of it,
he's spent thousands of dollars, and as soon as these machines became
practical he put 'em in. The other day when I was going through the room
one of these shuttles flew off, as they sometimes do when the looms are
running at high speed. A woman was pretty badly hurt. Ditmar came right
down."

"He really cares about them," said Janet. She liked Caldwell's praise of
Ditmar, yet she spoke a little doubtfully.

"Of course he cares. But it's common sense to make 'em as comfortable
and happy as possible--isn't it? He won't stand for being held up, and
he'd be stiff enough if it came to a strike. I don't blame him for that.
Do you?"

Janet was wondering how ruthless Ditmar could be if his will were
crossed.... They had left the room with its noise and heat behind them
and were descending the worn, oaken treads of the spiral stairway of a
neighbouring tower. Janet shivered a little, and her face seemed almost
feverish as she turned to Caldwell and thanked him.

"Oh, it was a pleasure, Miss Bumpus," he declared. "And sometime,
when you want to see the Print Works or the Worsted Department, let me
know--I'm your man. And--I won't mention it."