XV.
One evening in January, Salome and Marion went over early to Newbern Shepard Hall. Marion’s duties called her there every evening, and she was seldom unaccompanied by her friend.
The success of Salome’s schemes for the interest of the working-girls seemed already assured. Although the Hall had been open but little more than two months, classes in dressmaking and millinery and in domestic science were already established, and were well attended. Some girls there were, it is true, who felt that, after working all day, they were entitled to an idle evening, or to the right of amusing themselves after their own fashion. But plenty of young women had been found to open the classes, and the number was steadily increasing. No strong measures had beentaken to induce these girls to join. Marion had talked with some of them individually, at first, and found a few who, half skeptically, had consented to try the dressmaking class, as an experiment. Then the announcement was made that a class would be opened on a certain night, and twenty-six girls were present. Instruction in sewing, cutting and fitting was given free to any woman connected with the Shawsheen Mills. As the girls had been paying exorbitant prices for having cheap material poorly made up, and as Salome had provided instructors from the best dressmaking establishment Shepardtown afforded, the girls were not slow to see the benefit that would come to them.
The young wives of operatives, too, women with houses and children to care for, then began to avail themselves of the privileges which the class afforded. So that, on this January evening, there were over a hundred and fifty women in the classes, and another room had been opened to them on the ground floor.
It was the same with other classes. At first, the young women had joined with the olderones in “pooh-poohing” the cooking and housekeeping lectures and demonstrations. The idea that they and their mothers did not know how to cook, and that Salome, who knew absolutely nothing of such matters, essayed to teach them, was a most distasteful one. But when they found that a celebrated teacher was to come out twice a week from Boston, and give demonstrations in the model class-rooms below, and that a graduate of the Boston Cooking School had been engaged to take charge of the lessons every evening, they, the young married women from the cottages, especially, dropped in from curiosity; and although they had come to scoff, they remained to cook. In short, they had become deeply interested in the new ways of housekeeping, and were surprised and delighted to find a way of making their few dollars go farther and procure a better and more healthful living. Consequently, these classes, too, were full, although the older matrons did not yet give up their prejudices.
Among the girls who had not yet joined the classes, there were many who sat quietly in their own rooms or in the large reading-rooms, and enjoyed the current magazines and papers,or gossiped quietly and harmlessly about the fashions and each other—not altogether unlike women of higher pretensions. It was astonishing, even to Salome, who had, from the first, believed in her girls, how few of them went out on the streets at night.
“It is not astonishing to me,” said Marion, that January evening, in reply to a remark from her friend to this effect. “The girls are tired at night and are only too glad to have a pleasant, light and steam-heated place to stay in. Their rooms at the old boardinghouses were cold, barren and dismal. In winter weather they could not sit in them, and the so-called parlor was not much better. When I was at Mme. Blanc’s one of her servant girls went wrong. I shall never forget something she said. When Madame heard of it, she sent for the girl and asked her, bitterly, what had made her bring such a scandalous thing upon a select house like hers. I was in her room at the time. The poor girl looked up at Mme. Blanc and said, ‘O, ma’am, you’re awful particular about where your young ladies spend their evenings,—girls that you’re paid for looking after. But us servant girls—how did you look after us? You didn’t allowus a light in our own rooms, or to speak above a whisper in the kitchen, or seem to think we was human beings at all. What else could we do, but go out on the street when we wanted a bit of freedom? And once, on the street, ma’am, girls like us ain’t never safe. If you’d looked out for me, ma’am, and treated me as well as you treat your own dog or cat, it would never have happened.’ Poor Madame was overcome entirely, and the girl left her white with rage. But she looked after her servants more closely afterward, and kept them in at night in warm rooms. I don’t believe our girls want to do wrong,—especially if we make it comfortable for them to do right.”
On the young men’s side, things had gone equally well. There was a class of them who, like their fathers before them, were sturdy, honest and faithful. It was a small class, but upon these John Villard depended to counteract the influence of the lower foreign element that had crept in; and to the pride of these he appealed, both directly and indirectly, in his efforts to establish a better social atmosphere among the operatives.
With a few of these to begin with, he hadopened an evening school on the other wing of the Hall; and, as in the case of the women’s classes, it had increased in numbers and interest from the start. The overseers, almost to a man, gladly availed themselves of its opportunities for the education that the true American always feels the need for; and they, with the better class of men from the looms and mules, set the example for others to follow.
No better man for the work could have been chosen than John Villard. He had come up under much the same conditions that governed them. He had begun on the lowest round, and worked up to the position he now occupied, by hard work and the closest application to business. This fact, together with his attitude toward them during the strike, had made him a favorite with nearly every man on the works. They felt that they could place the utmost confidence in Villard; and in the Shawsheen Mills, as everywhere, a rugged sincerity and honesty of purpose carried a weight that even the most unstable felt.
The lecture-hall was usually packed at the weekly entertainment which Salome provided, and a new feeling of content and self-respecthad begun to permeate the mills. Make a man who has been looked upon as a mere machine feel that he is estimated at something near the worth which every human being feels in his heart that he is entitled to, and you have done much to raise him to a higher social standard. For the first time since old Newbern Shepard’s day, the mill-hands began to feel a just pride in being individual American citizens. Unconsciously, both men and women were setting their faces toward the higher standards which Villard by his life, and Salome by her newly awakened energy, had set for them.
At the mills, affairs were on a most flourishing basis. The Shawsheen brand of cloth was too well known to allow of a few months shutdown of the mills making any difference in the law of demand. Orders had increased, even while the mills were closed, and they had been worked to their utmost capacity ever since they had opened. Never had the Shawsheen Mills been more prosperous than at the beginning of January, or their future looked brighter.
When Villard had opened his evening school he invited Burnham to co-operate with him;but the latter had put him off without a definite reply, and not until the afternoon of the day referred to in the beginning of this chapter had Villard asked him whether or not he might count on his assistance. Burnham occasionally looked in at the Hall of an evening, but Villard had begun to suspect that this was principally for the purpose of seeing Marion Shaw.
“Well, to tell the truth,” Burnham finally admitted, “I’ve no taste for this sort of thing. Oh, yes; it’s a good scheme, and seems to be working first-rate; but I’m not the right fellow for the place. I don’t like philanthropic work, never did, never shall. I work hard enough during the day. I need rest and freedom at night.”
Villard smiled.
“And I suppose I don’t do anything day-times and need this sort of thing as recreation and intellectual stimulus?” His tone was sarcastic, for he had little patience with selfishness in any form.
“No, not that,” said Burnham. “You work hard enough—too hard, in fact. But all this is more in your line. You’re like MissShepard; you’re both of you happier working yourselves to death for others. Now, I’m not built on that plan. I’ve no faculty for teaching, and I’m sure that my well-meant efforts to meet the men half-way are looked upon by them as condescension on my part.”
He waited an instant for Villard to speak, but no answer came.
“I can’t help it. I wasn’t born to the manor, so to speak. I didn’t come up from the ranks, as you know. I suppose they’d believe in me more, if I had. But you know that my father put me under Mr. Greenough to learn the business, only after I had graduated from college and fooled away a year in Europe. I sometimes doubt if I’m not out of place in this mill as it is run nowadays.”
“Oh, no, not that,” put in Villard hastily. “You’re too good a business man. We couldn’t spare you.”
“I can see how it’s all coming out,” Burnham continued, as if he had not heard Villard. “You two” (Villard’s heart jumped at the words) “will go on and make a model institution of the Shawsheen Mills. I should doubt if you made a profitable one, only that Iknow you’ve got a mighty good business head on your shoulders; and, I say, the way Miss Shepard is developing is a caution to us men. I’d no idea she’d take such a practical turn, or learn the details so readily. Oh, I can see where it’s going to end. She’ll be the recognized head and you’ll be her first assistant. As for me, I sha’n’t be in it. I shall have resigned.”
“Jeff!” It was only occasionally that these two called each other by their boyhood names.
“Yes, I don’t think I should care to have it known that I worked under a woman, much as I admire and respect Miss Shepard. There’d be no other way, unless I married her!”
Villard turned pale with sudden, inward rage, but he said nothing.
“Don’t think I’d have much chance there, though,” Burnham went on lightly. “You’re more her style. And you’re both so much wrapped up in good works that you’ve no time for faith in each other, beyond what you waste in philanthropic effort. Miss Shepard don’t seem to be the marrying kind. I don’t believe she ever thinks of a man unless he has the merit of being an operative in the mills.”
“And since you’re bent on discussing matrimonialmatters,” observed Villard, with sarcasm, “how about Miss Shaw? And when are the wedding-cards to be issued?”
Burnham shook the ashes from his cigar and looked at his watch critically.
“Marion Shaw is a fine girl,” he said. “She’s the right kind of woman to tie to; but”—and Burnham took up his hat to go out—“I’m not the marrying kind either.”
So Villard had come to understand that he must take care of his evening school as best he could alone.
Robert Fales had settled in Shepardtown. There were to be more cottages built in the spring, and to him Salome had alone confided her plan of erecting a new church which should be named for her grandfather. When the evening school began to grow, he went to Villard and offered his services as assistant, and had proved a most valuable one.
This evening Salome looked in upon them, and asked Villard if he could give her a few moments after the class.
“I shall be very glad,” he replied. “I have been working up the idea you spoke about the other day, and wanted to talk with you about it.”
“The profit-sharing scheme?” asked Salome. “That’s just what I wanted to speak of. It seems to me we ought, now, at the beginning of the year, to get it into manageable shape, and tell the men, so that they may know what to expect. I will be in the reception-room when your class is through.”
Much as Villard was interested in his work the remaining hour dragged a little. The prospect of a quiettête-à-têtewith Salome, even on so unromantic a subject as profit-sharing, was too alluring.
But, at last, he found himself face to face with her, and for a few moments forgot all else in the pleasure of listening to her voice and watching the curve of her chin and mobile lips, as she talked of immaterial things.
“And now, what kind of a plan have you formulated as to the profit-sharing?” she asked, after a little.
“Profits—oh, yes,” said Villard, suddenly brought to himself. “I have examined all the accounts of such experiments in foreign countries, and tried to remember the differing conditions and better wages here. I have prepared a rough draft of a circular which Ithought perhaps you might like to send out among the hands. Do you want to see it?”
“Of course,” was the answer.
“I don’t pretend it is complete, you know,” he went on, drawing a folded paper from his inner pocket. “It is only an abstract, but—here it is.”
“Read it to me, please,” said Salome.
He would rather have had her read it, while he watched her face; but he complied.
“For some time past,” the circular read, “the subject of co-operation in some form has been considered by the Shawsheen Mills. Believing that capital and labor are interdependent and their interests identical, it has been decided to adopt some plan by which the laborer may obtain a share of the product in proportion to the profits of the scheme, at the same time guaranteeing his wages against the time of loss.
“It is now proposed, therefore, to divide a sum among the Shawsheen employes, each year in which there are surplus profits, over and above wages earned.
“Understand, that before anything can be set apart for this purpose, wages must be paid,interest must be paid, and a fair profit on capital must be paid. In addition to this, an additional amount must be set aside to make good the wear and tear of buildings and machinery, and to strengthen reserve funds against a time of depression.
“Ordinarily, the sum above all these amounts must be small, and must differ, of course, with the fluctuations of the market, the depression of trade, and the wear of machinery from year to year. It will be readily seen, also, that the sum to be divided will be enlarged by extra care and attention on the part of employes. Every weaver who makes a mis-pick, every burler who slights her work, every spinner who makes a needless knot; in short, every person who makes an unnecessary waste of any kind, makes the amount to be divided smaller, by making a loss to the concern; and, on the other hand, if every person in the mill attends to the little savings, the wool-washers saving every scrap of wool, the spinners making less waste, the weavers weaving up the whole bobbin, and so on through all the branches, a great saving can be made which will effectually increase the sum to be divided; and it will befor the direct interest of every employe to exercise such increased care and diligence.
“The mode of distributing this bonus will be by making a dividend of so much per cent. upon the wages earned by each person. If, after all contingencies are provided for, there is not enough left to make a dividend of one per cent., no dividend will be made for that year. In case of a dividend it will be paid on and after the first day of May in each year to all employes who have been in employ at the Shawsheen Mills for at least seven months during the year, and shall not have been discharged for drunken or disorderly conduct. The amount of wages earned during the year preceding the first of April shall be the amount upon which the bonus for each individual shall be computed.
“The profit for the present year, if there be a dividend, will be paid on or after the first day of May. Let every person connected with the mills work so faithfully, making every effort toward a wise economy, that the first dividend shall be an encouraging one.”
John Villard stopped reading the circular and looked across at Salome. She was regardinghim with a fixed look of admiration and reverence, such as a good woman feels for but one man in a lifetime. For an instant his pulses leaped; but he was too modest a man to believe in his own good fortune.
“Well, what do you think of it?” he asked.
His words brought her to herself. Her expression faded to one of mere brightness, and became less frankly honest.
“I think it capital,” she said. “I do not see how it can be improved. Will you let me take it home and consider it?”
“Of course,” he assented. “You know I do not pretend it is perfect. But it seems to me we risk nothing in trying it.”
Salome rose to go and reached out her hand for the manuscript. Some pieces had fallen on the table and in gathering them up, their hands brushed against each other.
An electric thrill shot through the frame of each. Salome stood, blushing and sweet, suddenly conscious that a crucial moment in her life had come. Had Villard but spoken, had he but clasped the hand that still remained near his!
But, ever depreciating himself and knowing absolutely nothing of the heart of woman, he turned abruptly away, bringing Salome back to herself with a hasty “good-evening.” And then he strode away to the outer air, asking himself, savagely, why he was so weak and boyish because a pretty woman happened to touch his hand.