that those men should feel that way toward us. I want to talk to
father about it--have him explain it to me."

Lightener chuckled and turned to Mr. Foote. "I don't suppose you
appreciate the humor of that, Foote, the way I do. He's coming to you
for an unbiased explanation of why your employees--feel that way. ...
Young fellow," he turned to Bonbright again--"I could come closer to
doing it than your father--because I was one of them once. I used to
come home with grease on my hands and a smudge on my nose, smelling
of sweat." Mrs. Foote repressed a shudder and lowered her eyes. "But
I couldn't be fair about it. Your father has no more chance of
explaining the thing to you--than my wife has of explaining the
theory of an internal-combustion engine. ... We employers can't do
it. We're on the other side. We can't see anything but our own side
of it."

"Come now, Lightener, I'm fair-minded. I've even given some study to
the motives of men."

"And you're writing a book." He shrugged his shoulders. "The sort of
philosophical reflections that go in books aren't the sort to answer
when you're up against the real thing in social unrest. ... In your
whole business life you've never really come into contact with your
men. Now be honest, have you?"

"I've always delegated that sort of thing to subordinates," said Mr.
Foote, stiffly.

"Which," retorted Mr. Lightener, "is one of the reasons for the
unrest. ... That's it. We don't understand what they're up against,