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"A man to see the manager," announced Miss Briggs, nodding toward a quiet figure seated on the "waiting bench." The man stood up and bowed. It was the young bookkeeper from the paper mill, who had so bravely defended the girls on Saturday night. Uncle John regarded him with a frown. "I suppose Skeelty has sent you to apologize," he said.
Thursday Smith's defense of the girl journalists, whereby he had severely pounded some of the workmen who had insulted them, had caused the man to be denounced by the colony at Royal. Mr. Skeelty, the manager, had demanded that Smith be discharged by Mr. Mirrick, and being refused, had threatened to shut off the power from the newspaper plant.
The Tuesday morning Tribune greeted them at the breakfast table, and the presswork was remarkably clean and distinct. In a day or so Mr. Merrick received a letter from Mr. Skeelty, the manager of the paper mill. He said: "I understand you have employed one of my discharged workmen, who is named Thursday Smith. My men don't want him in this neighborhood, and have made a strong protest.
Mr. Merrick shut the door and called up Skeelty. Five minutes of bargaining settled the question and he then connected with Mr. Marvin again and directed him to have the presses and machinery equipped to run by electricity.
Skeelty for giving his men whiskey and turning them loose in a respectable community; but the manager merely grinned and said he must keep "the boys" satisfied at all hazards, and it was the business of the Millville people to protect themselves if the workmen became too boisterous.
It stands for financial success, I understand; but I'll bet you never made your money doing such fool things as establishing newspapers in graveyards." Uncle John looked at the man attentively. "I shall refrain from criticising your conduct of this mill, Mr. Skeelty," he quietly observed, "nor shall I dictate what you may do with your money provided you succeed in making any."
I've an idea the thing may bring factories to Millville." "Then get at it, Joe, and build it quick. I've a notion we shall have an open rupture with Skeelty before long." Joe Wegg smiled. "You're going to accuse me, sir, of asking advice after I've made up my mind," said he; "but the fact is, I have bought the mill of Silas Caldwell already.
Better go back to Royal and settle your troubles with Skeelty, for if you stay here the citizens of Millville are in the mood to shoot you down like dogs." They stood undecided a moment, but the argument had evidently struck home. "What's the matter with Harris?" asked one, pointing to the motionless form of the man in the green sweater. "Is he dead?"
"No, sir; Skeelty is not in an apologetic mood," replied the man, smiling. "He has fired me." "What for?" "Interfering with his workmen. The boys didn't like what I did the other night and threatened to strike unless I was put in the discard." "And now? asked Uncle John, looking curiously at the man. "I'm out of work and would like a job, sir." "What can you do?" "Anything."
"They develops the power from the Royal Waterfall of the Little Bill," explained Cotting, with slow and pompous deliberation. "Mr. Skeelty he tol' me they had enough 'lectric'ty to light up the whole dum country fer ten mile in all directions, 'sides a-runnin' of the mill." "Who's Skeelty?" "Manager o' the mill, sir, an' part owner, he says." "Has he a telephone?" "Yes, Mr. Merrick." "Thank you."
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