tion
with him she was there, a spectator of the toil beneath? Yet the terror
persisted. She, presently, would step out of the noise, the oppressive
moist heat of the drawing and spinning rooms, the constant, remorseless
menace of whirling wheels and cogs and belts. But they?... She drew
closer to Caldwell's side.

"I never knew--" she said. "It must be hard to work here."

He smiled at her, reassuringly.

"Oh, they don't mind it," he replied. "It's like a health resort compared
to the conditions most of them live in at home. Why, there's plenty of
ventilation here, and you've got to have a certain amount of heat and
moisture, because when cotton is cold and dry it can't be drawn or spin,
and when it's hot and dry the electricity is troublesome. If you think
this moisture is bad you ought to see a mill with the old vapour-pot
system with the steam shooting out into the room. Look here!" He led
Janet to the apparatus in which the pure air is forced through wet
cloths, removing the dust, explaining how the ventilation and humidity
were regulated automatically, how the temperature of the room was
controlled by a thermostat.

"There isn't an agent in the country who's more concerned about the
welfare of his operatives than Mr. Ditmar. He's made a study of it, he's
spent thousands of dollars, and as soon as these machines became
practical he put 'em in. The other day when I was going through the room
one of these shuttles flew off, as they sometimes do when the looms are
running at high speed. A woman was pretty badly hurt. Ditmar came right
down."

"He really cares about them," said Janet. She liked Caldwell's praise of
Ditmar, yet she spoke a little doubtfully.

"Of course he cares. But it's common sense to make 'em as comfortable and
happy as possible--isn't it? He won't stand for being held up, and he'd
be stiff enough if it came to a strike. I don't blame him for that. Do
you?"

Janet was wondering how ruthless Ditmar could be if his will were
crossed.... They had left the room with its noise and heat behind them
and were descending the worn, oaken treads of the spiral stairway of a
neighbouring tower. Janet shivered a little, and her face seemed almost
feverish as she turned to Caldwell and thanked him.

"Oh, it was a pleasure, Miss Bumpus," he declared. "And sometime, when
you want to see the Print Works or the Worsted Department, let me
know--I'm your man. And--I won't mention it."

She did not answer. As