"How?"
"With that placard."
"I suppose so," he said, slowly. "My name WAS signed to it, wasn't
it? ... You see I had been indiscreet the night before. I had mingled
with the men and spoken to Mr. Dulac. ... I had created a false
impression--which had to be torn up--by the roots."
"I don't understand, Mr. Foote."
"No," he said, "of course not. ... Why should you? I don't understand
myself. I don't see why I shouldn't talk to Mr. Dulac or the men. I
don't see why I shouldn't try to find out about things. But it wasn't
considered right--was considered very wrong, and I was--disciplined.
Members of my family don't do those things. Mind, I'm not
complaining. I'm not criticizing father, for he may be right.
Probably he IS right. But he didn't understand. I wasn't siding with
the men; I was just trying to find out ..."
"Do you mean," she asked, a bit breathlessly, "that you have done
none of these things of your own will--because you wanted to? I mean
the placard, and bringing in O'Hagan and his strike breakers, and
taking all these ruthless methods to break the strike? .
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