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Spencer?"
"Yes. Sit down, please."
Even through the closed window the noise of the mill penetrated.
The yard-engine whistled shrilly. The clatter of motor-trucks, the
far away roar of the furnaces, the immediate vicinity of many
typewriters, made a very bedlam of sound. Mr. Dunbar drew his
chair closer, and laid a card on the desk.
"My credentials," he explained.
Clayton read the card.
"Very well, Mr. Dunbar. What can I do for you?"
Dunbar fixed him with shrewd, light eyes, and bent forward.
"Have you had any trouble in your mill, Mr. Spencer?"
"None whatever."
"Are you taking any measures to prevent trouble?"
"I had expected to. Not that I fear anything, but of course no one
can tell. We have barely commenced to get lined up for our new
work."
"May I ask the nature of the precautions?"
Clayton told him, with an uneasy feeling that Mr. Dunbar was finding
them childish and inefficient.
"Exactly," said his visitor. "And well enough as far as they go.


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