"He organizes the work of the plant, establishes
production lines, works with Promotion and Sales, integrates Research
and Development, operates the planning machines."

"And you think you do a pretty good job of it, eh? Even asked for a
raise last year!" Torkleson's voice was dangerous.

Walter spread his hands. "I do my best. I've been doing it for thirty
years. I should know what I'm doing."

"_Then how do you explain these reports?_" Torkleson threw the heap of
papers into Walter's arms, and paced up and down behind the desk.
"_Look_ at them! Sales at rock bottom. Receipts impossible. Big orders
canceled. The worst reports in seven years, and you say you know your
job!"

"I've been doing everything I could," Walter snapped. "Of course the
reports are bad, they couldn't help but be. We haven't met a production
schedule in over two years. No plant can keep up production the way the
men are working."

Torkleson's face darkened. He leaned forward slowly. "So it's the _men_
now, is it? Go ahead. Tell me what's wrong with the men."

"Nothing's wrong with the men--if they'd only work. But they come in
when they please, and leave when they please, and spend half their time
changing and the other half on Koffee-Kup. No company could survive
this. But that's only half of it--" Walter searched through the reports
frantically. "This International Jet Transport account--they dropped us
because we haven't had a new engine in six years. Why? Because Research
and Development hasn't had any money for six years. What can two starved
engineers and a second rate chemist drag out of an attic laboratory for
competition in the titanium market?" Walter took a deep breath. "I've
warned you time and again. Robling had built up accounts over the years
with fine products and new models. But since the switchover seven years
ago, you and your board have forced me to play the cheap products for
the quick profit in order to give your men their dividends. Now the
bottom's dropped out. We couldn't turn a quick profit on the big,
important accounts, so we had to cancel them. If you had let me manage
the company the way it should have been run--"

Torkleson had been slowly turning purple. Now he slammed his fist down
on the desk. "We should just turn the company back to Management again,
eh? Just let you have a free hand to rob us blind again. Well, it won't
work, Towne. Not while I'm secretary of this union. We fought long and
hard for contro