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Updated: May 18, 2025
When he spoke it was not in reply to Lightener's question, but to put into words a fear that had become apparent. "The men," he said; "how about them?...You know, father sort of advertised me as a strike breaker and that kind of thing. Our men hate me. I suppose all laboring men feel that way about me." "We don't have any unions here. I run my own plant, and, by gracious! I always will.
It was his first encounter with Influence. He was conducted into a small office; then the lieutenant retired discreetly and shut the door. Bonbright made his call and asked for speech with Malcolm Lightener. "Hello!... Hello!" came Lightener's gruff voice. "What is it?" "This is Bonbright Foote.... I'm locked up in the Central Station. I wonder if you can't help me somehow?"
"The men," said Bonbright "that great mob of men pouring out of the gates and filling the street.... Somehow they seemed to stand for the business more than all the buildings full of machinery.... I stood and watched them." Interest kindled in Lightener's eyes. "Yes?" he prompted.
You designed Lightener's engine plant so you're about the one man to give me one that will turn out more engines with less labor and at lower cost than his. That's what I want." Mershon's eyes lighted. "It will cost money," he said. "I'll find the money; you give me the plant," Bonbright said. "And second, I want a survey made of this present plant.
"So you've decided to throw me over," she said, with a smile.... "I don't blame you, Bonbright. She's a dear." "But who is she?" asked Mrs. Lightener. "I seem to have heard the name, but I don't remember meeting her." "She was my secretary," said Bonbright. "She's a stenographer in Mr. Lightener's office now." "Oh," said Mrs. Lightener, and there was dubiety in her voice.
"It will do no harm to deliver my message," said Bonbright. "Huh!... Let him out." The doorman swung wide the barred door and the lieutenant motioned Bonbright out. "Come and set in the office," he said. "Maybe you'd rather telephone yourself?" "If I might," said Bonbright, amazed at the potency of Lightener's name to open cell doors and command the courtesy of the police.
Every noon saw him in the little hash house; every evening, when he could arrange it so, saw him with some interested employee, boss, department boss, or somebody connected with Malcolm Lightener's huge plant, pumping them for information and cataloguing and storing it away in his mind.
Mershon was Lightener's engineer, the man who had designed and built his great plant. "I can't, but I will." "As soon as he can arrange it, please. I want to get started." "He'll be there in half an hour." Mershon came, a gray, beefy, heavy-faced man with clear, keen, seeing eyes. "Mr. Lightener has loaned you to me, Mr. Mershon. It was a tremendous favor, for I know what you can do."
He knew how his father would do such a thing. Lightener's statement seemed to call for no reply, so he made none. "I wanted to look at you," said Lightener, "to make sure you aren't anything like him.... But you ARE like him. You stand like him and you look like him only you don't. If I thought you'd grow to think the way he does I'd send you to the cashier for your pay, in a second.
More than once she saw laboring men, machinists, men in greasy overalls, with grimy hands and smeared faces, pass into Malcolm Lightener's office, and come out with the Big Boss walking beside them, talking in a familiar, gruff, interested way. She was startled sometimes to hear such men address him by his first name and to see no lightning from heaven flash blastingly.
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