The next morning Wally was a little better.

He was still unconscious, but thanks to the surgeon his breathing was less laboured and he was resting more quietly. Mary had stayed with Helen overnight, and more than once it had occurred to her that even as it requires darkness to bring out the beauty of the stars, so in the shadow of overhanging disaster, Helen’s better qualities came into view and shone with unexpected radiance.

“I know...” thought Mary. “It’s partly because she’s sorry, and partly because she’s busy, too. She’s doing the most useful work she ever did in her life, and it’s helping her as much as it’s helping him

They had a day nurse, but Helen had insisted upon doing the night work herself. There were sedatives to be given, bandages to be kept moist. Mary wanted to stay up, too, but Helen didn’t like that.

“I want to feel that I’m doing something for him all myself,” she said, and with a quivering lip she added, “Oh, Mary... If he ever gets over this...!”

And in the morning, to their great joy, the doctor pronounced him a little better. Mary would have stayed longer, but that was the day when the labour leaders were to visit the factory; so after hearing the physician’s good report, she started for the office.

At ten o’clock she telephoned Helen who told her that Wally had just fallen off into his first quiet sleep.

“I’m going to get some sleep myself, now, if I can,” she added. “The nurse has promised to call me when he wakes.”

Mary breathed easier, for some deep instinct told her that Wally would come through it all right. She was still smiling with satisfaction when Joe of the Plumed Hair came in with three cards, the dignity of his manner attesting to the importance of the names.

“All right, Joe, send them in,” she said. “And I wish you’d find Mr. Forbes and Mr. Woodward, and tell them I would like to see them.”

“Mr. Woodward hasn’t come down yet, but I guess I know where Mr. Forbes is

He disappeared and returned with the three callers.

Mary arose and bowed as they introduced themselves, meanwhile studying them with tranquil attentiveness.

“The judge was right,” she told herself. “I like them.” And when they sat down, there was already a friendly spirit in the air.

“This is a wonderful work you are doing here, Miss Spencer,” said one.

“You think so?” she asked. “You mean for the women to be making bearings?”

“Yes. Weren’t you surprised yourself when your idea worked out so well?”

“But it wasn’t my idea,” she said. “It was worked out in the war oh, ever so much further than we have gone here. We are only making bearings, but when the war was on, women made rifles and cartridges and shells, cameras and lenses, telescopes, binoculars and aeroplanes. I can’t begin to tell you the things they made every part from the tiniest screws as big as the end of this pin to rough castings. They did designing, and drafting, and moulding, and soldering, and machining, and carpentering, and electrical work even the most unlikely things things you would never think of like ship-building, for instance!

“Ship-building! Imagine!” she continued.

“Why, one of the members of the British Board of Munitions said that if the war had lasted a few months longer, he could have guaranteed to build a battleship from keel to crow’s-nest with all its machinery and equipment all its arms and ammunition everything on it entirely by woman’s labour!

“So, you see, I can’t very well get conceited about what we are doing here although, of course, I am proud of it, too, in a way

She stopped then, afraid they would think she was gossipy and she let them talk for a while. The conversation turned to her last advertisement.

“Are you sure your figures are right?” asked one. “Are you sure your women workers are turning out bearings so much cheaper than the men did?”

“They are not my figures,” she told them. “They are taken from an audit by a firm of public accountants.”

She mentioned the name of the firm and her three callers nodded with respect.

“I have the report here,” she said and showed them the table of comparative efficiency.

“Remarkable!” said one.

“It only confirms,” said Mary, “what often happened during the war.”

“Perhaps you are working your women too hard.”

“If you would like to go through the factory,” said Mary, “you can judge for yourselves.”

Archey was in the outer office and they took him with them. They began with the nursery and went on, step by step, until they arrived at the shipping room.

“Do you think they are overworked?” asked Mary then.

The three callers shook their heads. They had all grown rather silent as the tour had progressed, but in their eyes was the light of those who have seen revelations.

“As happy a factory as I have ever seen,” said one. “In fact, it makes it difficult to say what we wanted to say.”

They returned to the office and when they were seated again, Mary said, “What is it you wanted to say?”

“We wanted to talk to you about the strike. As we understand your principle, Miss Spencer, you regard it as unfair to bar a woman from any line of work which she may wish to follow simply because she is a woman.”

“That’s it,” she said.

“And for the same reason, of course, no man should be debarred from working, simply because he’s a man.”

They smiled at that.

“Such being the case,” he continued, “I think we ought to be able to find some way of settling this strike to the satisfaction of both sides. Of course you know, Miss Spencer, that you have won the strike. But I think I can read character well enough to know that you will be as fair to the men as you wish them to be with the women.”

“The strike was absolutely without authority from us,” said one of the others. “The men will tell you that. It was a mistake. They will tell you that, too. Worse than a mistake, it was silly.”

“However, that’s ancient history now,” said the third. “The present question is: How can we settle this matter to suit both sides?”

“Of course I can’t discharge any of the women,” said Mary thoughtfully, “and I don’t think they want to leave

“They certainly don’t look as if they did

“I have another plan in mind,” she said, more thoughtfully than before, “but that’s too uncertain yet.... The only other thing I can think of is to equip some of our empty buildings and start the men to work there. Since our new prices went into effect we have been turning business away.”

“You’ll do that, Miss Spencer?”

“Of course the men would have to do as much work as the women are doing now so we could go on selling at the new prices.”

“You leave that to us and to them. If there’s such a thing as pride in the world, a thousand men are going to turn out as many bearings as a thousand women!”

“There’s one thing more,” said the second; “I notice you have raised your women’s wages a dollar a day. Can we tell the men that they are going to get women’s wages?”

They laughed at this inversion of old ideas.

“You can tell them they’ll get women’s wages,” said Mary, “if they can do women’s work!”

But in spite of her smile, for the last few minutes she had become increasingly conscious of a false note, a forced conclusion in their plans had caught glimpses of future hostilities, misunderstandings, suspicions. The next remark of one of the labour leaders cleared her thoughts and brought her back face to face with her golden vision.

“The strike was silly yes,” one of the leaders said. “But back of the men’s actions I think I can see the question which disturbed their minds. If women enter the trades, what are the men going to do? Will there be work enough for everybody?”

Even before he stopped speaking, Mary knew that she had found herself, knew that the solid rock was under her feet again.

“There is just so much useful work that has to be done in the world every day,” she said, “and the more hands there are to do it, the quicker it will get done.”

That was as far as she had ever gone before, but now she went a step farther.

“Let us suppose, for instance, that we had three thousand married men working here eight hours a day to support their families. If now we allow three thousand women to come out of those same homes and work side by side with the men why, don’t you see? the work could be done in four hours instead of eight, and yet the same family would receive just the same income as they are getting now the only difference being that instead of the man drawing all the money, he would draw half and his wife would draw half.”

“A four hour day!” said one of the leaders, almost in awe.

“I’m sure it’s possible if the women help,” said Mary, “and I know they want to help. They want to feel that they are doing something earning something just the same as a man does. They want to progress develop

“We used to think they couldn’t do men’s work,” she continued. “I used to think so, myself. So we kept them fastened up at home something like squirrels in cages because we thought housework was the only thing they could do....

“But, oh, how the war has opened our eyes!...

“There’s nothing a man can do that a woman can’t do nothing! And now the question is: Are we going to crowd her back into her kitchen, when if we let her out we could do the world’s work in four hours instead of eight?”

“Of course there are conditions where four hours wouldn’t work,” said one of the leaders half to himself. “I can see that in many places it might be feasible, but not everywhere

“No plan works everywhere. No plan is perfect,” said Mary earnestly. “I’ve thought of that, too. The world is doing its best to progress to make people happier to make life more worth living all the time. But no single step will mark the end of human progress. Each step is a step: that’s all...

“Take the eight hour day, for instance. It doesn’t apply to women at all I mean house women. And nearly half the people are house women. It doesn’t apply to farmers, either; and more than a quarter of the people in America are on farms. But you don’t condemn the eight hour day do you? just because it doesn’t fit everybody?”

“A four hour day!” repeated the first leader, still speaking in tones of awe.

“If that wouldn’t make labour happy,” said the second, “I don’t know what would.”

“Myself, I’d like to see it tried out somewhere,” said the third. “It sounds possible the way Miss Spencer puts it but will it work?”

“That’s the very thing to find out,” said Mary, “and it won’t take long.”

She told them about the model bungalows.

“I intended to try it with twenty-five families first,” she said, taking a list from her desk. “Here are the names of a hundred women working here, whose husbands are among the strikers. I thought that out of these hundred families, I might be able to find twenty-five who would be willing to try the experiment.”

The three callers looked at each other and then they nodded approval.

“So while we’re having lunch,” she said, “I’ll send these women out to find their husbands, and we’ll talk to them altogether.”

It was half past one when Mary entered the rest room with her three visitors and Archey. Nearly all the women had found their men, and they were waiting with evident curiosity.

As simply as she could, Mary repeated the plan which she had outlined to the leaders.

“So there you are,” she said in conclusion. “I want to find twenty-five families to give the idea a trial. They will live in those new bungalows you have probably all seen them.

“There’s a gas range in each to make cooking easy. They have steam heat from the factory no stoves no coal no ashes to bother with. There’s electric light, refrigerator, bathroom, hot and cold water everything I could think of to save labour and make housework easy.

“Now, Mrs. Strauss, suppose you and your husband decide to try this new arrangement. You would both come here and work till twelve o’clock, and the afternoons you would have to yourselves.

“In the afternoons you could go shopping, or fishing, or walking, or boating, or skating, or visiting, or you could take up a course of study, or read a good book, or go to the theatre, or take a nap, or work in your garden anything you liked....

“In short, after twelve o’clock, the whole day would be your own for your own development, your own pleasure, your own ideas anything you wanted to use it for. Do you understand it, Mrs. Strauss?”

“Indeed I do. I think it’s fine.”

“Is Mr. Strauss here? Does he understand it?”

“Yes, I understand it,” said a voice among the men. Assisted by his neighbours he arose. “I’m to work four hours a day,” he said, “and so’s the wife. Instead of drawing full money, I draw half and she draws half. We’d have to chip in on the family expenses. Every day is to be like Saturday work in the morning and the afternoon off. Suits me to a dot, if it suits her. I always did think Saturday was the one sensible day in the week.”

A chorus of masculine laughter attested approval to this sentiment and Mr. Strauss sat down abashed.

“Well, now, if you all understand it,” said Mary, “I want twenty-five families who will volunteer to try this four-hour-a-day arrangement so we can see how it works. All those who would like to try it will they please stand up?”

Presently one of the labour leaders turned to Mary with a beaming eye.

“Looks as though they’ll have to draw lots,” said he... “They are all standing up...!”