A Modern Tragedy (29 page)

There was a stir of interest as, disregarding the movement of protest from the secretary, Milner drew out the sheet from the pile in front of them, shook it into position, and held it away from himself in an unconsciously oratorical attitude. A tense silence followed as he read emphatically:

Dear Sirs,

You will remember that it was on January 2nd we made the suggestion that we should either return to time rates for twelve months, or have a special reduction of 10 per cent for twelve months. Since then we have discussed the matter at considerable length with you, but no conclusion seems to have been reached. The outlook for trade is now worse rather than better, and in view of the competition we have to face we are compelled to carry out the suggestion made in that letter
.

We should prefer to do it by agreement with your Union but otherwise can see no option but to give a week's notice to all our employees and set on such as desire on time rate
.

There was a pause. The last sentence had an ominous ring. Murmurs of:

“That's new—aye, we never heard nowt o' that afore,” arose on all sides.

“What does it mean, that last bit?” demanded somebody at the far end of the room.

“It means he'll sack the lot on us, and tek on fresh men at time-rate pay!” cried Milner with a sombre fury.

“Nay, he can't do that, surely!” cried several.

“Speak up, and tell us what it means,” one or two implored the secretary.

“I reckon it means pretty much what your shop-steward says,” replied the secretary drily, turning for confirmation to the president, who nodded.

“But how can he do that? What about th' agreement?” was shouted hotly.

“Messrs. Lumb gave notice of the termination of the present agreement on January 2nd., and it's May now, so he's within his rights,” stated the secretary. “Three months' calendar notice is what's required.”

“You mean we're all liable to a week's notice now?” demanded Harry incredulously.

The secretary's assent aroused a storm:

“Well, I'm blowed!” “That's a way to treat a man after twenty year!” “You oughtn't to have let it go so far!” “It's a very serious position,” concluded one of the older men gloomily.

But Milner, who thought their resentment had gone far enough, for if it went further it might depress them into surrender, now cried out impatiently:

“But he'll never do it! He couldn't get the men to replace us!”

Amid the chorus of relieved agreement, the secretary observed: “I don't know what you base that statement on, Milner, I'm sure. There's plenty of experienced men wanting a job to-day, you know.”

“Aye! But they don't know his work like we do,” said Milner with conviction. “Look how many different firms Lumbs finish for, and each one wants his cloth finished different. It's bad enough trying to get 'em all right as it is, wi' men that knows t' job.”

“Tha's reet there, Milner!” cried one of the older men feelingly.

There was a general laugh, and Milner, cheered, went on with a smile: “Wi' strangers—well! I wish him joy of it. Besides, where will he find enough non-union men?”

“He'll never do it,” said Harry with conviction.

“It'll about finish Lumbs off if he does,” said another.

“Then why does he say he will?” demanded the man who had spoken gloomily before.

“Bluff!” cried Milner. He felt his moment had come, and cried with passionate conviction: “It's part of the middle-class attack on the working man's standard of living, that's what it is. If we accept these cuts, then next thing Lumbs'll be cutting prices, and then other firms'll have to cut
their
prices, and lower
their
wages, and then Lumbs'll have to
cut us down again. And so it'll go on. Wages'll get lower and lower, and our standard of living'll go down and down. And the nation's purchasing power will go down and down, and trade will get worse and worse. It's the capitalists' paradox, that's what it is; only they're such fools they can't see it.”

“I should have thought a steady, sensible sort of chap like Arnold would have seen it,” mused someone argumentatively, amid the chorus of applause which followed Milner's speech.

“Him!” exclaimed Milner with contempt. “He's never read a book on economics in his life. He's so busy with his own narrow class views that he can't see a world force when it's put under his nose.”

“Aye—well—I reckon it's my weekly wage I'm after, not a world force,” objected someone slyly, and there was a laugh.

Milner turned white with rage. The words: “Then you're as bad as him!” sprang to his lips, but he would not throw away his influence over his audience by uttering them. Instead he shouted, vehemently thumping his fist into the palm of the other hand: “I've told you before, and I tell you again, it's all part of the attack on the working class standard of living. It's an attack on the solidarity of the working class. If you give way now, you'll make a breach in that solidarity! Besides,” he added, suddenly dropping his voice to a contemptuous undertone: “He's only bluffing; he daren't carry out his threat.”

“I take it you're against going back to time-rates, then?” said the president.

“Aye! And I'm against his alternative, his ten per cent cut in the piece rates, too,” said Milner angrily. “We've only drawn bonus twice in the last year, so why should we have a cut? And we've accepted two cuts since them piece rates were first agreed, you know we have.”

“Headquarters in Bradford think you ought to accept,” observed the secretary.

“I daresay—they're lily-livered chaps over there, and they don't know Lumbs' trade,” said Milner contemptuously. “He'll never replace us—it'll be the finish of Lumbs if he tries it.”

“Tha's reet there, lad,” murmured one or two of the older men.

“Well, shall I take the vote?” demanded the chairman. “I may say I agree with Milner here; but in Bradford they think you ought to accept, with so many unemployed and trade so bad.”

“Wasn't there some other scheme for modifying the rates a bit?” suggested the gloomy man: “I' those letters?”

“We've washed all those out long ago,” said Milner with scorn. “They work out worse nor time rates or ten per cent cut.”

“I think Lumbs ought to knock summat off their own wage before they come on ours,” said a young voice shrilly.

“They have done a bit i' that line,” replied another.

“Aye, but how much?” demanded Milner. “Those people'll knock hundreds off the wages bill, and think they're doing well to tek ten pound a year less themselves. Besides, the smaller the income the more valuable the shilling.” As this was received in a perplexed silence, he went on quickly: “Besides, I don't see why we should suffer to help them show a larger profit.”

“Nor me!” growled several men in chorus.

“Arnold said they was losing, and had to economise,” observed someone doubtfully.

“Aye, they look like it,” said Milner sarcastically, amid ironical laughter. “I notice they still run a car. Why should we have less to tek home every week, to pay for their petrol?”

Why, indeed? thought Harry resentfully. He thought of Jessie, Dorothy, the baby, his mother, and the brother who was still out of work. Now that trade was so slack and Valley Mill not running full time, Jessie had a tight enough squeeze already to manage, and if he and Milner were both to drop several shillings a week, well!

“I suppose we should be sure to come out less on the time rates?” suggested another man diffidently, whose thoughts had obviously taken the same turn as Harry's.

An ironical chorus greeted this remark. “What do you suppose Lumbs wants to change for?” demanded several voices sarcastically, while Milner merely smiled his contempt.

“Arnold'll never do it,” mused Harry. “Not he! It's just a try-on. He'll get rid of a few instead.” And unconsciously he reflected: “It won't be Milner and me.”

The president now put the question to the vote.

All present voted against acceptance. They did not see why they should be made to suffer the financial loss, especially in these hard times when so many of them had unemployed relatives whom they had to help. They thought Arnold Lumb's threat altogether too unprecedented, too outrageous, and too harmful to the firm, to be carried out. And, besides, the working class ought to stand together solidlike. It was only too true what Milner said—if wages came down in one place, the employers took the opportunity to push them down a bit further somewhere else. Once go back on the principle of collective bargaining, and where were you? This agreement under which they had worked with the Lumbs was made between several employers' associations and their own large union. They weren't going to be held up to the opprobrium of their fellow unionists as having made a breach in the solidarity of the union by accepting cuts, not they; they weren't going to stand any nonsense from Arnold Lumb.

To analyse how much of these feelings they owed to Milner's leadership, how much to the contemporary conditions which Milner called world forces, and how much to permanent human impulses of self-preservation and self-fulfilment, with resentment at their thwarting, would be difficult. After all, Milner himself was a product of the interaction of the other two causes, and the world forces were the product of ill-regulated human impulse.

Accordingly, two days later Arnold Lumb received a further communication from the union. His hand shook a little as he opened it, and his plain square face was haggard and lined. It was Wednesday morning; only the day before, in his weekly journeyings round and about Leeds, he had been met by a demand for cut prices from an old and valued customer, who told him with a shamefaced air that at Heights he could get the same finish at a much lower rate. The slump continued, trade seemed to ebb and ebb, yet owing to the complex nature of the processes of his business, he could not dispense with any more workmen. Unless he could economise further, and the only place left for further economy seemed to him to be the wages bill, immediate ruin stared him in the face.

He tore the sheet of paper in his anxiety to get at its contents quickly, at last managed to unfold it, and read:

Dear Sirs,

Following our interview at your works on May 6th., you forwarded to us your letter of May 10th., and in reply to which, on May 11th., you were assured that your letter would have the consideration of your employees
.

Your employees have now considered that matter, and I am requested to advise you that they confirm their previous decision, as expressed in interview and correspondence, of being unable to accept either your proposed modified piece-work scheme or reversion to day-rates. Under all the circumstances
they think that if economies have to be effected they should be met between the staff and the heads of the firm
.

“Do they, by God!” exclaimed Arnold in a fury. He threw the letter over to his father, saying: “What do you think of that?” Then he strode into the outer office, pushed the astonished typist off her stool, and, without hesitation, began to type out a notice to the firm's employees.

After a moment, his father followed him, enquiring weakly: “What shall you do about it, Arnold?” He seemed suddenly to have turned into a very old man. His voice quavered, his large face drooped, his very bulk seemed to have shrunk, he dragged his feet heavily; his whole personality expressed intense consternation and dismay.

Arnold was silent till he had completed the notice to his satisfaction, then he ripped the paper out of the machine, took his father by the arm, walked him to the inner office, and put the notice into his hand.

It ran:

We hereby give every employee of this firm a week's notice
.

On Thursday next, June 3rd., the works will reopen on full Union Time Rates. Will any employee willing to work on Time-Rates give in his name to the office on, or before, Saturday, May 29th
.

After that date if insufficient men have given in their names we shall have no option but fill up such places as are vacant
.

“I should like you to sign it with me, father,” said Arnold in a stern tone.

“Very well,” agreed the old man feebly. He took the pen his son offered him, and signed
William Henry Lumb
in a weak sprawling hand. “There's nowt else to be done, I suppose,” he said.

“Nothing,” agreed Arnold, adding his own signature with vicious emphasis.

Mr. Lumb arose, stumbled over to the branched hat-stand, and, breathing heavily with the effort, began to struggle into his coat.

Arnold remembered his threat to walk out if the men were dismissed, and understood that his father simply had not the courage to stay in the mill while the notice was posted. His heart swelled with grief and rage. A life-time of honest effort, and this was what you came to!

He helped the old man into his coat and handed him his hat; then, thinking whom he could get to drive his father home, from force of habit called out: “Walter!” The moment the word had passed his lips he knew what he had said. The blood rushed to his face in an angry flood, and he gasped out a savage exclamation. Mr. Lumb looked at him sadly, then shaking his head as if renouncing this new generation and all its ways, slowly walked out of the building.

Arnold snatched up the notice, rushed into the mill, and posted it up with his own hand.

Consternation immediately spread throughout the building; and the lad who rushed up to the Schofields to give them the news shot a very uncomplimentary glance at Milner.

“By gow!” exclaimed Harry, standing stock-still, crimsoning. “I never thought he'd do it! Well, that's a cufter!”

In spite of himself, he, too, looked sourly at his brother. “Did you ever think he'd do it, Milner?” he asked doubtfully.