WHY THE MEN WON AT CROFTON'S.

Otago Witness, Issue 2490, 4 December 1901, Page 78

WHY THE MEN WON AT CROFTON'S.

I. The blight spring sunshine shone into the board 100 m wheie the directors of the great steel-manufacturing firm, Messrs Crofton, Bayne, and Co., Limited, 01 Sheffield, sat in troubled .council.

The ■steel-workers had demaijcTed an advance iv wages, and, upon being refused, they had walked out in a body, and the great works, which had before hummed with activity, were now silent and deserted.

The directors were in a quandary. Orders were coming in thick and fast ; the obtaining of skilled mechanics was an impossibility under the stringent laws 01 organised labour, and blacklegs were out of the question. The men had demanded all or nothing, and held sturdily to their position.

The firm of Crofton, Bayne, and Co. was practically owned by the j^ayne family. Thirty years ago John Bayne, the father, had, with two partners, founded the business which was, in the fulness of time, to become one of the biggest firms in the three kingdoms. The modest little factory had grown steadily as the years went by ; but when a quarter of a century had rolled by two of the weary builders had laid down their tools to answer the inevitable summons, and to John Bayne alone was left the pleasure of seeing the great result of their handiwork.

He -w as now the chairman of the company, but allowed his sons to manage the business for him.

Young George Bayne was manager of the work-. He was a big, handsome, strong-limbed young fellow, iir.De.tuous and rash ; one who made many mistakes, but who erred oftener from pure good-hearted-ne«s. than from faulty motives.

The other, the elder, son, Henry, was vice-chairman. He had the same quick, impetuous nature as his brother, but in dealing with tho<-e around him employed the discretion of maturer years. In one hour the committee appointed by tlic .strikers was to meet the directors, and the latter were now fortifying themselves against the attack xhat they felt was coming. "It/% o confounded nuisance, this stvlie remarked Henry Bayne, impatiently. " Yes ; and .'it will be a good deal wor«e before we have finished," replied his brother. '• You haven't the worst of it, by any means. You don't have to sit in the oSice all day and hear tales of complaint and dissatisfaction." '\Pu.. au end to it — put nn end to it. then!" advised the other, testily. "Put an end to it?" repeatedthe younger man, scornfully. "How are you going to do it?"' "Give them what they ask tlrs time — tlial would b» my policy. It won't break the company." " Not financially — no : but it is the precedent lam fighting. It isn't that I want to keep the men down. for. (goodness knows, they need every penny they get in this world. We pay better th?n uny of the other factories ; but Ihere i^ a limit, and we've reached it now."

do it?"'

"Can't we compromise on tl.'.s question of wastes?" interposed Gate*,, the trea<Him\ " Compromise !"' echoed George Bavne, with a little half-scornful bugh. '" Xo. sir ; no compromise with those fellow?. They want all or nothing; and they don't want the additional tenpence a day any more than they want the satisfaction thai comes from getting the best of us. Yet I don't blame them a bit," he added, with grave reflection. " I would do the same thing if I were in their places."' John Bayne sat quietly looking out of the window , taking no part in the conversation. He seldom intiuded his opinions nowadays, for his eighty-two years lay heavily upon him.

A knock at the door broke the silence that had fallen upon the directors. In response to George Bayne's invitation three men entered — the representatives chosen by the striker*.

The spokesman of the committee wa«. the foreman of the casting department — John Av.ciersou. by name. More progressive than most of lii.« fellow-workers, he had studied the labour question, until he could defend his position with more than ordinary astuteness and force.

The other two men took seats near the door in response to the invitation of Henry Bayne ; but Anderson remained standing, cap in hand. " Well, John," said George Bayne, pleasantly, "you have come to speak for the strikers?'" "We have, sir,' replied John, quietly. " And your men want an extra tenpence a day?" " They do. sir." "And what if we won't give it to them? Or what if we can't?" queried the manager. The man's face flushed angrily. "You can if you want to," he answered, quickly ; "you are rich enough."

"That isn't the point. John." interposed Henry Bayne, kindly. "But, you know, \i c are not the only steel manufacturers in the country, and we must, of necessity, follow the wage-laws governing our competitors in the business." Anderson gave the speaker a sharp s'tfeglance, as if questioning his sincerity, and then turned and faced the directors. "It's all right to tell us that," he said. speaking quickly. "But they all tell the same story. If they stuck up for oui rights as well as they do for their own, we'd get more. But it ain't that way. It'; us poor devils who make good all voiu los=es in the competition business. When price- goes down we get a cut in wages ; wh;n a new building is put up there is another cut in wages ; when you give a big cheque to some chprity doings we p.iy foi it. That* Uas jizaj^ yj>u meet x our coaoftetitionj, said

it's us that's gettm' the worst of it all the ' time, not you." | " We pay better wages in our works than any other firm," said George Bayne. "Then I pity the poor devils that work for the others!" responded the foreman quickly. "Ten years ago," he added, turning to John Bayne, and half addressing him, "I made 12s a day in your wotks ; but you have cut me down until I don't get much over half that now. There^ has been , no difference in your way of livin' as I can j see. You "

" Our way of living is not a case in point!" interrupted the manager, testily. '• It is a case in point, ' retorted Anderson, "just as much as my wages is a case in point. My wife likes to have pretty things ps well as your wife. She's a woman jmt the same,' even if she is poor." He advanced toward young George Bayne, and peered up into his face with dark defiance.

"And my children have to be brought up and educated to go out into the world and be citizens alongside of yours, too!" he cried har&hlv.

The light died out of George Bayne's eyes and the angry words that rose to his lip-, were checked. He turned suddenly and walked over to the window, and stood there, with his back to the otheis.

Thfre ttc« an embarrassing silence. John B.xyne sat by silently, and with apparent unconcern ; but occasionally his lips trembled, and the paving stones in the .'Licet outfi.de bobbed up oncl down queerly before his eves.

Ge*orge Bayne whistled softly and uneasily, and Henry sat with flushed face and bend head. "You talk about ycur public spiri* and your patriotism, ' continued Anderson, vehemently, taking full advantr-ga of his unchallenged speech, "and yet you don't c->ve whether our children are brought up *v> be good citizens, and public men! Mighty little you care about us, either ! It doesn't make any difference to you how many of us are pi.il up there in the cemetery every year. We burn our souls out over your iorges and your furnaces, and when we ask for°our dues we gtt a kick:" "John — John!" cried out old John Bayne, with pained reproach. John's face softened for an instant, for he loved the old man like a father ; but ha was tlisre for his men, and- must stand hi 5 ; ground.

"When trade was baa four years ago you closed the works for six months, fivl some of the men are paying debts they contracted then. When you put us to w ork again " The sentence was never finished, for at that moment the office boy entered the room.

"Your -wife has sent for you to come home, Mr Bayne,'' he said to the younger ' manager. "She says I'm to tell you th? baby's worse." George Bayne turned with whitened f ice. "Good heavens!" he cried, under his breath. "John." he said quietly, turning to the foreman, "come- round io my office in the morning and we'll talk this matter over further." The man bowed silently, and withdrew. "You'll have to yield, George." remarked Gates. "They're' in dead eirneat this time." "I'll not ron^edi one p r -nny, if T hove ony say in the matter!" replied the manager firmly, as he Avalked out of the room. °He went below, nnd got into his carriage, waiting at the door, and drove horne — there to face the hardest trial of his life. His young baby-boy Arthur — the idol of his heait — was dying" He saw it the moment he entered the room. The child had been ailir:^ for mouths, and medical skill and carp Lad not brought the results hoped for ; and of late the anxious parents had seen a gradual lessening of vitality. George Bayne had built the dearest hopes of his life around this child. The only boy in the Bayne family, the father saw \ in "him the name perpeituued, the business maintained, and the rapidly-accumulating wealth multiplied — all in the glory of the heir and of the name he bore. But, ala« for human hopes! | That night, about 10 o'clock, George Bayne stepped out upon the broad verandah of his beautiful home. He wanted to be alone, and to breathe the frenli air. The baby Lad died at 8 o'clock, and since th^n -the house had been in a state of mournful disorder. A shower, coming late in the evening, had cooled the atmosphere and a light, soft breeze was now blowing. All nature was hushed and reverent before the reign of imperial Night. Fleecy clouds floated across the star-pricked sky. and the air was filled with the odour of sweet, damp grass.

George Bayne leaned heavily against one of the large white pillars of the verandah. He was suffering as strong men suffer — with that despairing, tearless grief that friendly sympathy seldom reaches, because it cannot understand or penetrate the mask of icy calm.

A nun, walking with unsteady gait, j came slowly up the stone pavement. He j paused at the step?, and Bayne moved forward. The moonlight, falling upon the , visitor's f.ice, pictured it white and lv^g- j gard. j "Oh, it is you, Anderson !" said the manager in a dull voice. j "Yes, Mr Bayne," answered the man in j strange, uocertain tones. "I came to tell ! you th.it I cannot meet you in the morning. My — my little boy died to-nigh*-. I ' Here the man's voice brjke, and a sob cscapscl him. j The deep voice of the manager look up the bioken thiead of the sentence. i "A similar reason £>reveiit< me iro;n meet- | ing you, Juli.i, foi m\ pooi In tie boy, too, ' died to-ni^ht ! ' I For a moment each forgot h's own grief in tlie reali-it'on of wh->t the man !.'_foye him was sufi'iiLig Sudi is the giancle.a of human sympathy tint, when sonow iiic s £cuxcna-, {lie shadows mei^e a& ace,

George Bayne slowly descended the stona steps, and took the hard, knotty hand of the foreman in his own ; and there, in the quiet night, social barriers were swepfc away, and they were man and man, with a common cause and a common sorrow.

"John," said the manager, aT-2 1 his voice was steady, but his lips trembled, and his forehead was rigid with outstanding veins. "I. shall not be down at the factory for a day or two — neither will you. of course ; but you may send word to the men from me that we will make the concession asked.''