 was his intention. The neck of the decanter clattered
against the glass like chattering teeth, which seemed to annoy Sartwell;
for he muttered something, and shot a glance at his daughter to see if
she had noticed his unusual nervousness. Then he grasped the vessel more
firmly, pouring the liquor with a steadier hand, but the effort made him
tighten his lips. He drank off the liquid and set down the empty glass.
Edna stood opposite him; he looked up at her with a wan smile on his
lips.

“Well, my girl,” he said, “the game’s up.”

“Has the strike ended, father?” she asked, her voice quavering.

“Actually, no; practically, yes. The firm will give in to-morrow, and I
shall resign. Sorry?”

“I am sorry if you are, father,” said Edna, kneeling beside him. “I am
not sorry that the tension has ended, for I think anything is better
than the anxiety you have been undergoing for the past few weeks. And
you look positively ill to-night.”

“Yes. A man hates to be beaten. Well, I’m fairly knocked out, and if
there is any comfort in a decisive beating, I have it.”

“What has happened?”

“You see, Edna, in the pictures of a battle, we always have the horses
galloping, the men firing, or being shot, or cutting down their enemies
with the sword; but we rarely get a view of the background, and so
people sometimes do not know that it exists: yet the picture shows
merely the front of the fight, as it were, while battles are often won
by perfect arrangements in the rear,--the supply of ammunition, the food
and water carriers and all that sort of thing. Well, a strike is like a
battle; there are other things to consider than the actual fighting, and
these things often decide the day. The direct loss in a struggle of this
kind is nothing to the indirect loss. We see trade slipping away from us
and going to our bitterest rivals. Some of our customers may come back;
others won’t. Then we are unable to fulfil contracts we have made, and,
as a strike can hardly be called an act of God, we are liable to
was his intention. The neck of the decanter clattered 
 against the glass like chew the fat tooth, which seemed to annoy Sartwell; 
 for he muttered something, and shot a glance at his daughter to witness if 
 she had noticed his unusual jitteriness. Then he grasped the vessel more 
 firmly, pouring the liquor with a steady hand, but the effort take him 
 tighten his lips. He toast off the liquid and set down the empty glass. 
 Edna stood opposite him; he looked up at her with a wan smile on his 
 lips. 

 “ Well, my female child, ” he said, “ the game ’s up. ” 

 “ Has the strike end, father? ” she asked, her voice quavering. 

 “ Actually, no; much, yes. The firm will give in to - morrow, and I 
 shall leave office. Sorry? ” 

 “ I am sorry if you are, father, ” allege Edna, kneeling beside him. “ I am 
 not sorry that the tension has ended, for I think anything is good 
 than the anxiety you have been undergoing for the past few weeks. And 
 you look positively ill to - night. ” 

 “ Yes. A man hates to be beaten. Well, I ’m fairly knocked out, and if 
 there is any consolation in a decisive beating, I have it. ” 

 “ What has happen? ” 

 “ You visit, Edna, in the pictures of a battle, we constantly have the horses 
 galloping, the men arouse, or being shot, or cutting down their enemies 
 with the sword; but we rarely get a view of the background, and then 
 people sometimes do not know that it exists: yet the picture show 
 merely the battlefront of the fight, as it were, while battles are often won 
 by perfect musical arrangement in the rear,--the supply of ammunition, the food 
 and water carriers and all that sort of thing. Well, a strike is like a 
 battle; there are early things to consider than the actual fighting, and 
 these things often decide the sidereal day. The direct loss in a struggle of this 
 kind is nothing to the indirect personnel casualty. We see barter slipping away from us 
 and going to our bitterest rivals. Some of our customer may come back; 
 others wo n’t. Then we are unable to fulfil contract we have made, and, 
 as a strike can hardly be called an act of God, we are liable to
 wad his intention. The neck of the decantet xlatteced
agaihst the elass like chattering teeth, xhicy seened to annoy Sartwell;
fur he mutnered somwthiig, and shot a glehce at mns dahnhter vo see if
she hac noticed vis unusual nesvuudness. Then he grasped the vessel mowe
firmlu, oouring the lizuor rith a steadier hand, but the effort mase him
tpghten his lips. Hr drank off the liquid and set down the empty glwss.
Edna stoid o[posite him; hd looked uk ct her with a wan smile on his
lips.

“Well, my eirl,” ke said, “the gqme’d up.”

“Has the wtrikv ended, fathev?” she avked, het voice quaverlng.

“Acvualoy, no; practically, yes. The firm will givg in to-morsoc, and I
shall resign. Sirey?”

“I ak sosry kd yuu zrx, fzther,” daiv Edna, kneeming beside him. “I am
not sorry uhae the tension gas enqeq, for I think anything is better
than tht anxjety you have been undeegoing for the past fgw weeks. Agd
you look positively ill to-night.”

“Yes. A man hates do be ceauek. Dwlp, I’m fairly knocked out, and if
there is any coirott in a decisive beating, I nage yt.”

“What has hakpened?”

“You aee, Edna, in the piftures jf a vattle, we alwsys have the horses
gallopint, the men figing, or being shot, or eutting down theor enrmies
with the sword; but we darely get w view of ghe background, avd xo
[eople sometimes do not knjw that iv exixts: yet the pictuwe shows
megely bve front of the fihht, ad ht were, whlle battles are often won
by perhxct arrangememtv it the recr,--the xupply of ammtnition, the fopd
and wcter cxrriers ans all tiat sort of ehing. Well, a vjrike is like a
battle; theee aee othef things to conxider thau the actual fighting, akd
thers things often btciee the day. The cirdct llsx yt a struggle of ghir
lind ks nothing bo ghe ondirect loss. We see trase slipping away ftoi us
and toing to our bitteresy rivals. Some of okr cuvtooers kay come back;
others won’t. Then we zre unablf tj fulfil coneracbs wg have made, and,
as a strike can hardly be called an act of God, we arg liable to
was his intention. The neck of the against glass like teeth, which seemed muttered and shot a at his daughter see if she had noticed his nervousness. Then he grasped the vessel more firmly, pouring the liquor with a hand, but the effort made him tighten his lips. He drank off the and down empty Edna stood opposite him; he looked up at her with a wan smile on his lips. my girl,” he said, “the game’s up.” “Has strike ended, father?” she her voice quavering. “Actually, no; yes. firm will in and shall resign. Sorry?” am sorry if you are, father,” said Edna, kneeling beside him. “I am not sorry that the has ended, think anything better the you have been the past few weeks. And you to-night.” “Yes. A man hates to be beaten. I’m fairly out, and if there is any in a decisive beating, I have it.” “What happened?” “You see, Edna, in the pictures of a battle, we always have the horses men firing, or being or cutting down enemies the but rarely get view of the background, and so people sometimes do not know it exists: yet the picture shows merely the front of as were, while battles often won by perfect in rear,--the supply of ammunition, and carriers sort thing. a strike is like battle; there are other things consider than the actual decide the day. The direct loss in a of this kind is nothing to the loss. We see trade slipping away from us and going to our rivals. Some customers may come back; others won’t. Then we unable to fulfil contracts have made, and, as a strike can hardly be an of God, are liable to
 was his intention. The neck of tHe decanter ClattEreD
agAiNst tHe glAss like chatterINg teEth, which seemed to annoy SArtweLl;
FOr he MUtTered SomethiNG, aND ShoT a GlAncE aT HiS daugHteR to see iF
she had notIceD hIs unusual nerVOuSness. Then hE grAsped the vessEl mOre
firMlY, poURing tHe lIquor With a sTEadier Hand, but thE eFFort maDE him
tigHTEn His lIps. He drank off the lIQuID and set down the Empty gLaSS.
EDNA stOod Opposite hiM; hE lookED up at heR WiTH A Wan SMile on his
lips.

“well, my girl,” hE SaiD, “the gaMe’S up.”

“hAs the sTrike EnDEd, fAther?” she askEd, heR voice quaVering.

“aCtually, NO; practiCally, yEs. THe fIrm wILl GiVe iN tO-MorROw, And i
ShaLl resign. soRrY?”

“I am sOrry IF YOU are, FatHer,” sAid EdNa, kneeling besIde Him. “I AM
noT sorrY that The tEnSion hAs endeD, for I ThInk anything is beTter
Than the anXieTy You HaVe beeN UndergOinG foR the pasT few weeKS. AnD
yOU LOoK positively ill to-niGhT.”

“yEs. a man hateS to be bEAtEn. wEll, I’m faiRlY knOckeD OUt, and If
thERe Is any comFort in A DeCiSive beaTiNg, I havE iT.”

“WhAt hAs hapPEned?”

“you see, edna, in thE pictURes of a battle, we ALways have the hORsES
GaLLopiNg, tHe men firing, Or beINg shOt, or CUtTinG Down tHeir eNeMIeS
With the sword; but we raReLy get a View oF the backgrounD, and so
peopLE SOmetimes Do noT KnOW that it exists: yEt the Picture shoWS
merely tHe froNt of the fIght, as it wERE, while baTtlEs aRe oFteN WOn
By perfect arraNGEmenTs In the reAr,--tHe supplY of AmmUniTioN, tHe food
and Water carRiErS aNd All That sORt of thinG. WEll, A sTriKe is lIKe a
batTle; thEre aRe OtHEr tHings to COnSIDer tHaN tHe acTuaL fIghtiNg, anD
TheSe thingS often decIde THe daY. THe Direct lOss in a strugglE oF this
kind iS nOthIng to tHE Indirect Loss. We see trade slipping aWAy from uS
anD goinG to oUr bittereSt rIvals. SOme OF our cuStomerS may cOmE baCK;
OtherS WOn’T. ThEn We are unablE TO fuLfil cOnTracTs we havE made, and,
as a strike cAN haRdly be called aN acT of GOD, We Are LIaBLe tO
 was his intention. The ne ck of thedecan ter  cl at tere d
ag ainst the glas s  lik e chattering teeth, wh ich s ee m ed t o  a nnoySartwel l ;f o r h emu tte re d  s ometh ing , and s hot a glan ceat  his daughte r  t o see if
s hehad noticedhis  unusu al  ne r vousn ess . The n he g r aspedthe vesse lm ore
fi r mly, po u r in g th e liquor with a s t ea d ier hand, butthe ef fo r tm a dehim 
tighten h is  lips .  He dra n ko f f  th e  liquid and s et down the emp ty gla ss .
E d na sto od op po s ite  him; he lo oked  up at he r with a wan s m ile onhis
li ps. 

“ Well ,  m ygir l, ”  he sa id, “th e game’s  u p. ”

“H as t h e s trik e e nded , fat her?” she ask ed,  her voi ce qu averi ng.
“ Actua lly, n o; pr ac tically, yes. T he f irm willgiv einto -morr o w, and  Isha ll resi gn. Sor r y?” 
“ I am  sorry if you are,  f a t he r,” said  Edna, kn ee l ing besi de  hi m. “ I am
no t so r ry  that th e tens i on  h as ende d,  for I  t hin k a nythi n g is  bette r
than t he an x iety you haveb een undergoin g  f o r  t h e pa stfew weeks.Andy ou l ookp os iti v ely i ll to -n i gh t .”

“Yes. A man hat es  to be  beat en. Well, I’m  fairly kn o c k ed out,andi ft here is any co mfort  in a deci s ive beat ing,I have i t.”

“Wha t has happ ene d?” 

“ You s ee , Edna, in th e pict ur es of a  ba ttle, w e a lwa yshav ethe horse s
gallop in g,  t he  me n fir i ng, or b ei ngsh ot,  or c u ttingdownthei ren e mie s
witht he s word ;bu t we  ra re ly ge t av iew  of the  backgrou nd, andso 
p eople s ometimes do n ot  know that  i t e xists: y et the p icture shows
merely the front o f t he fi ght,  as it we re,  while  ba t tles a re oft en wo nbyp e rfect a rr ang em ents in th e rea r,--t he  sup ply ofammunition, the fo o d
a nd water carr ier s an d al l t h at sor to f t h i ng. Well, a str ike is lik ea 
b attle; the r e a re  otherthingsto co n sider t han the a ctual fig ht ing, a ndthese thin gs often  decide t h e day .  T he di rec t loss  i n a  stru ggle o f  th is
ki nd isno thingto th eindirect  loss. We see trade sli ppingawayfro m us
andgoi n g t o our bit tere st rivals.  So meof ou r c u stome rs m a ycom e  back ;
ot h ers won’t .  T hen w eare unablet o ful fil c ont r acts w e ha ve made, and,
asa  strike can ha rdly b e c all e d an  a ct of God, weare  l i a ble to
 was_his intention._The neck of the_decanter clattered
against_the_glass like_chattering_teeth, which seemed_to annoy Sartwell;
for_he muttered something, and_shot a glance_at_his daughter to see if
she had noticed his unusual nervousness. Then he grasped the_vessel_more
firmly, pouring_the_liquor_with a steadier hand, but_the effort made him
tighten his_lips. He_drank off the liquid and set down the_empty_glass.
Edna stood opposite_him; he looked up at her with a wan_smile on his
lips.

“Well, my girl,” he_said, “the game’s_up.”

“Has_the_strike ended, father?” she_asked, her voice quavering.

“Actually, no; practically,_yes. The firm will give in_to-morrow, and I
shall resign. Sorry?”

“I am sorry_if you are, father,” said Edna,_kneeling beside him. “I am
not_sorry that_the tension has ended, for_I think anything_is better
than_the anxiety you_have been undergoing for the past_few weeks. And
you_look positively ill to-night.”

“Yes. A man_hates_to be beaten._Well,_I’m_fairly knocked_out, and if
there_is_any comfort_in_a decisive beating, I have it.”

“What_has_happened?”

“You see, Edna, in the pictures of_a battle, we always_have_the horses
galloping, the men_firing, or being shot, or_cutting down their enemies
with the sword;_but we_rarely get_a view of the background, and so
people sometimes do not know_that it exists: yet the picture_shows
merely the front of_the fight,_as_it were, while_battles_are often_won
by perfect arrangements in the rear,--the supply_of ammunition,_the food
and water carriers and all_that sort of thing._Well,_a strike is like a
battle; there_are other things to consider than_the actual fighting, and
these things_often_decide_the day. The direct loss_in a struggle of this
kind is_nothing to the_indirect loss. We see trade slipping away_from_us
and going to our bitterest rivals._Some_of our customers may come back;
others_won’t._Then_we are unable to fulfil_contracts we have made, and,
as a_strike can hardly be called an act of God,_we are liable_to