Harvey had no chance to make reply; for almost in the same breath David went on, thrusting an envelope into his hand as he spoke: "Here’s a letter of interduction I want you to present to a fellow in the city—he’s the teller in the Merchants’ Bank, an’ you might find him helpful," David concluded with a hemispheric grin; "hope you’ll endorse my suggestion," he added, the grin becoming spherical.
Harvey tried to protest as best he could, protest and gratitude mingling; but the train was already moving out and his communications were chiefly in tableau.
"That’s all right," David roared above the din; "good-bye, my boy. Remember Geordie Nickle’s motto—an’ don’t blow out the gas."
"Better eat all you can, Madeline; you can’t never tell when you’re goin’ to have your last square meal these days," and David deposited another substantial helping on his daughter’s plate.
"Why, father, what’s the matter? What’s making you so despondent all of a sudden?" Madeline asked in semi-seriousness, following her father’s advice the while.
"You don’t understand your father, Madeline—he’s always joking, you know," interjected Mrs. Borland. "You shouldn’t make light of such solemn matters, David," she went on, turning to her husband, "hunger’s nothing to jest about."
"Exactly what I was sayin’," responded David, "an’ if things goes on like they promise now, you an’ Madeline’ll have to take in washin’ to support this family—that’s the gospel truth."
"I don’t believe father’s in fun," Madeline persisted. "Anything go wrong to-day with business matters?" she enquired, looking across the table at her father.
That David was in earnest was obvious enough. "Everything wrong, appearin’ly," he said, rolling up his napkin and returning it to its ring. "The men’s goin’ to strike—seems to me there’s a strike every other alternate day," he went on. "Doin’ business nowadays is like a bird tryin’ to hatch out eggs when they’re cuttin’ down the tree—some o’ them darned firebrands from St. Louis have been stirrin’ up the men; a lot o’ lazy man-eaters," he concluded vehemently.
"What do the men want, David?" his wife asked innocently.
Mr. Borland looked at her incredulously. "What do they want—the same old thing they’ve been wantin’ ever since Adam went into the fruit business—less work an’ more pay. An’ they’ve appointed a couple o’ fellows—a delegation they call it—to wait on the manufacturers privately an’ present their claims. There’s two different fellows to interview each man—an’ they’re comin’ here to-night. They didn’t tell me they was comin’—I jest heard it casual."