X.
Early that evening Geoffrey Burnham and John Villard were announced. Mrs. Soule and Salome were alone in the parlors when they came in, but Marion was sent for.
“And you’ve brought good news?” asked Salome. “They’ve consented to go to work again?”
“Of course,” Burnham replied. “They were only too glad to meet us on any sort of terms.”
“Wait till my friend comes down,” said Salome. “She is interested, and will want to hear the details. Oh, here she is. Miss Shaw, allow me to present my two confrères (and teachers as well), Mr. Burnham and Mr. Villard.”
“And so it is really settled?” Salome asked, “and the mills are to be opened again?”
“Monday morning, if you like,” replied Burnham, “or earlier. But to-day is Wednesday, and there are many things to be done where the mills have stood idle for months.”
“I’m so glad,” returned Salome.
“There is hearty rejoicing throughout the corporation,” said Villard. “I was coming through there to-night and met a couple of little boys with bundles of groceries in their arms. The smallest looked up and smiled. ‘We’re going to have a good supper of meat and potato to-night,’ he said. ‘The mills are going to open and pa’s got work.’ I asked him how long since he had had meat, and he said not since Christmas; and even then he only had a turkey’s wing that somebody gave him.”
“Poor boy! Tell me about your conference with the Labor Union.”
“It passed off smoothly,” Villard went on. “Burnham told him we came from you, and were prepared to make terms with them. We only saw the committee you know, and they are to lay our terms before the Union to-night; but there is no doubt that they will accept. They are really very sensible and shrewd, those fellows on the committee, eh, Burnham?”
“Remarkably,” replied the first superintendent. “I didn’t know we had such intelligent men.”
“But it is our business to know it,” Villard returned, and Salome nodded her head. “We laid our plans before them, and told them that we would concede all their wishes, except about the machinery of course. And one of their own number spoke up promptly and said it was hot-headed bigotry on their part that had made them stick for the removal of the frames. And that most of them, even the Lancaster spinners, had come to see that every improvement to the mills meant an improvement of their condition. Then the secretary wanted to know if they were to be allowed to exist as a Union. Burnham told them that you were taking a great interest in the management of the mills; and that we all believe that no harm can come of their organizing themselves into an association, provided they were willing to be reasonable, and to confer with us before taking extreme measures again. He begged them to believe that you are their friend, and want them all to have a fair chance. And he ended by assuring them that we, assuperintendents, fully concurred with you; and that he hoped they would be willing to start on a new basis, and to consider our interests as they expect and desire us to remember theirs. Burnham did himself proud, Miss Shepard, and I could see they were a good deal affected by his conduct.”
“I am covered with blushes,” declared Burnham. “Spare my modesty.”
“Blushing must be a novel sensation to you,” retorted Villard. “The leaders shook hands with us when we came away and thanked us for what we had said, assuring us that they would be ready to enter the mills again at once. And a different spirit is evident to-night, all through the corporation.”
“Don’t be too sanguine,” interrupted Burnham. “We’re not through the woods yet. And there are several ends to be achieved before the millennium dawns.”
“I should like,” said Salome, “if it will not bore you too much, to outline the general plan I have formed for raising the condition of things at the mills.”
“Nothing would give us greater pleasurethan such a proof of your confidence,” replied Burnham.
“And we can assure you beforehand,” said Villard, “of our hearty co-operation.”
No one but Salome noticed that her aunt had quietly slipped away when she spoke of her plan. Mrs. Soule did not care to hear Salome “talk shop.”
“In the first place,” Salome began, “are the mills all they should be? Are they well lighted, aired and drained? Is the machinery such as to benefit both the operators and the business interests of the mills?”
“No, they are not quite up to modern standards,” Villard replied, promptly.
“I don’t know,” pursued Burnham, “but they are quite as good as the average. There are many worse mills than the Shawsheen.”
“That isn’t the point,” Salome replied. “Are there any better? Or are they capable of improvement?”
“Well, yes, if you don’t consider expense,” assented Burnham.
“Are they well-lighted? Are their sanitary conditions good?”
“They are very well-lighted indeed,” saidVillard; “your grandfather built much in advance of his time, and the mills are all light and strong. But they need better ventilation in cold weather; and, as you know, sanitary science in Newbern Shepard’s day was hardly up to modern demands.”
“I propose putting in the best drainage system we can find. I propose bath-rooms, wash-rooms and elevators.”
“Good!” said both her superintendents.
“As for machinery, you will know what is needed there. We want the latest improved methods of doing our work. It will not do for us to be behind the times, or the world will laugh at our philanthropic efforts. The standard of the mills must be as high now as it was in my grandfather’s day. Nothing but the best of goods, made after the most approved modern methods, must go out from us. Otherwise the world will say we are visionary and lack good business sense.”
“That is true,” assented Burnham. “The business must not suffer.”
“At the same time, I want the mills made so pleasant and comfortable that our operatives will prefer them to any other, knowing thatwe propose to consult their interests and happiness in little things, as we desire that they shall consult ours in great. Then their homes. Those old rickety tenement houses must be abolished from the face of the earth.”
“Hear, hear,” cried Villard, “they have long been an eyesore to me.”
“They are a disgrace to us,” was Salome’s emphatic answer.
“But you can’t do that all at once,” said Burnham. “That is something that will take time.”
“It is April now,” said Salome. “I propose to begin at once on new houses for the operatives. They will have to stay where they are for the summer, but by cold weather I mean that every one of them shall be in new quarters.”
“Whew!” said Burnham; “youarea woman of business, Miss Shepard. But you will have your hands full this year to build new houses for two thousand people.”
“It can be done though,” Villard replied. “There are plenty of carpenters and builders to be had. What kind of tenements do you propose?”
“I have not fully decided. At first I thought of having single cottages for every family, with a tiny plot of land for each. But sometimes I wonder if some of the plans for model tenement houses would not be more feasible. What do you think?”
“There are advantages in both,” said Burnham. “It is doubtful if many of the operatives would appreciate a whole house, or take good care of one. On the other hand, the best tenement house system in the world has its drawbacks.”
“In a country-place where there is room enough, as there is here,” advised Villard, “it seems to me that the single cottage system is the better. Each family can then have a certain privacy, impossible to the tenement house system. They can soon be educated up to caring for their places, and, I think, will soon come to take pride in them. They may not pay, at first; but they will serve a higher purpose. I have thought it would be a fine thing,—in the Utopia of which I have often dreamed,—if, connected with such a factory as this, could be built some substantial, inexpensive cottages which could be sold to the working-menwith families, on very easy terms. Let them occupy them as tenants, for instance, until their rentals amount to a certain sum—say two hundred dollars,—unless they have been fortunate enough to have saved that amount, which they can pay down, and then let them take a deed of the place and give us a mortgage. Pardon me, Miss Shepard, I am only supposing a case.”
“And quite a supposable one,” said Salome, her eyes glowing. “Why can’t it be done?”
“Doubtful if any of them would burden themselves with a debt like that,” demurred Burnham.
“I think they would,” Villard responded. “The desire for a home of one’s own is an instinct which is implanted in every human breast. If the steadier, more sensible men of the mills could be induced to try it, it would soon become the ambition of all the younger ones to own their homes. I am sure the overseers, at least, would like to try it. So many of our operatives live in a hand-to-mouth fashion, never saving anything. Let them see that what they pay for rent will be credited to them; that they are actually saving thatmoney, and they will, for the most part, gladly fall in with the scheme. And when a man begins to save up money, and to feel that he is worth something, his self-respect increases and ambition makes a man of him. I tell you, I believe the thing could be done here, and the condition of our working-men be vastly improved by it.”
“We will, at least, make the experiment,” said Salome earnestly. “At first a wild dream came to me of building model tenement houses and practically giving them the rent. But I soon came to see that it would be better for them to pay what they could afford for improved conditions.”
“That would be far wiser,” said Villard. “To make them objects of charity would be to lower their condition in the long run.”
“Then I have a plan for the girls,” Salome went on. “So many of them live in those dreadful boardinghouses. I’ve been into one, and I wonder how any girl can keep her self-respect and live there. I am going to build a large building, which shall have plenty of light, airy bedrooms, prettily and inexpensively furnished; so that a girl may feel that she has acosy little spot somewhere on earth of her very own. I am going to have model bath-rooms and a large, cheerful dining-room. There will be a matron to the establishment who will be like a mother to the girls; not one who will care nothing whether her girls are sober and respectable, or miserable and besotted, so long as they pay. This woman will win the confidence of the girls, and lead them into habits of personal cleanliness and common sense; she will take an interest in their little personal affairs, and advise them kindly and judiciously. In short, she will make a home for them in the truest sense of the word.”
“You will have to have her made to order, Salome,” interrupted Marion from the sofa where she had been an interested listener. “Such paragons do not exist.”
“And would scarcely be appreciated by the average factory girl if they did,” added Burnham, smiling at Marion.
“I shall have a large and pleasant parlor with a piano and a comfortable reading-room,” Salome continued, as though not hearing; “I don’t suppose the girls, judging from what I hear and see of them, will care much for readingat first; but if I put plenty of light, healthful literature in their way, with illustrated books and good pictures on the walls, they will gradually come to like them. And then, there must be weekly entertainments, and perhaps a hall.”
“And what about the young men?” inquired Villard. “Are you going to leave our sex out in the cold?”
“Yes, if you educate the girls so much above them, what are the young fellows to do?”
“They shall have such a boarding-house too,” said Salome, “only we’ll call them Unions. I hate the name boarding-house, and I should think they would; and then, by and by, there are still other schemes in my mind. There are children, plenty of them, on the corporation. They are poor, sickly, unkempt, uncared-for. All this must be changed.”
“That will come, I think,” said Burnham, “with their improved conditions and surroundings. It is unhealthful where they now are. Shall you build the new houses there?”
“Oh, no, I forgot to say,” answered Salome, “that we must put up their new quarters on the hill, the other side of the mills. It is muchpleasanter up there, and a far more healthful locality. Work on them can begin right away. Will you find me the proper man to undertake the building of the houses, Mr. Villard?”
John Villard’s heart fairly burned with enthusiasm. This was a project he had long cherished, although he had been entirely without means or prospect of ever being able to carry it out.
“You may be sure I will do my best,” he answered.
“And we will reserve the power of directing and planning the buildings ourselves,” she added.
“I’m glad you’re going to do something for the children,” said Marion. “If you don’t succeed in improving things in this generation much, you will in the next, if you educate the children.”
“That is what I propose to do,” said Salome. “They must have better schools than they ever had.”
“And be compelled to attend them,” interposed Burnham.
“Oh, there are so many things to be done. It will take years to get everything in working order.”
“You have laid out a beautiful scheme, Miss Shepard,” remarked Geoffrey Burnham, “and in most respects a practical one. But you must not be too sanguine. These people are ignorant,—fairly steeped in ignorance. They are jealous, too, and doubtless will mistrust your motives, and believe you have some selfish reason behind all your endeavor.”
“I have,” laughed Salome. “I want my mills to be models, and my people to be the best, most skilled, most intelligent, and most progressive community in America.”
“Bravo!” said Villard. “So do I.”
“I am not so sanguine as you may think,” Salome went on. “I know they are ignorant. How should they be anything else? All their lives they’ve been used as we use the machines in the factory,—to make good cloth, and plenty of money. Nobody has thought of their welfare, or cared what they did, or thought, or became, when working-hours were over. How do we know what sort of men they are, or what capabilities they possess? I read somewhere, only the other day, that there may still be Fichtes tending geese, and Robert Burns’ toiling on the farm; that there may be, yet, successorsof William Dean Howells at the type-forms, of T. B. Aldrich at the book-keeper’s desk, of Mark Twain at the pilot-wheel. We have no right to keep them back. But this writer went on to say, that the world has less need of them, even, than of those who cannot aspire to thrive outside the shop, and who go to their daily toil knowing that their highest hope must be not to get ‘out of a job’ and not to have their wages cut. I don’t suppose they will, at once, appreciate our efforts to better their condition. Possibly they will oppose us at first; but we can have no better task to perform than to make them prosperous, contented and joyous in their work. And by making a man of the operative, I fully believe we shall bring material prosperity to the mills.”
“But the expense,” urged Burnham. “Have you calculated that? I doubt if the mills could stand so heavy a burden all at once.”
“I have calculated the expense,” Salome answered him. “And what cannot be done from the yearly profits of the mills, I will do myself.”
“We shall be eagerly watched by the whole manufacturing world,” said Burnham.
“So much the better,” added Villard. “Itis time somebody set the example. If we succeed in carrying out all these plans, and keep the mills on a paying basis as well, it will be the beginning of a mighty reform in the working-man’s world. I believe we can succeed.”
“You will be called quixotic and all sorts of pleasant things, Salome,” said her friend Marion.
“The beginner in any reform is always called a crank, if nothing worse,” replied Salome. “If I chose to build a million-dollar castle to live in myself; if I preferred to dress in cloth of gold and silver; if I insisted upon eating off solid gold dishes; or even if I were to endow a church or a female college, the world would admire and praise me, and say these things are a rich woman’s prerogative. If I choose instead to spend my fortune on the Shawsheen Mills, and elevate by its judicious expenditure two thousand operatives for whom I ought to feel morally and socially responsible, the world will probably wonder and call me quixotic. Christ Himself was called a fanatic. Most people to-day, if they voiced their real sentiments, would wonder that He could be so democratic as to die for the whole world, ignorant, uncultivated, detestable sinners, and all.”
One of those silences fell upon the room, that always follows the mention of Christ’s name in a conversation not strictly “religious” in character. Marion was admiring the courage of her friend; Burnham was rather taken aback at this fearless reference to a Being whom he seldom heard mentioned outside the churches; and Villard was surprised and delighted with this unworldly woman of the world, and her avowal of principles and hopes and wishes which he had cherished for years. He was the first to speak.
“You must have done some hard thinking,—and a good deal of reading, in the past six months.”
“Yes,” answered Salome. “I have. I have read everything I could think or hear of, on subjects bearing on this case; and I have lain awake many a night, since it was really borne in upon me that I have something to do here, planning my work. But the greater part of the credit, if there is any, in my plans, lies with my grandfather. He thought out many of these things, years ago; I have simply adapted his theories to our modern times and conditions.”