"Oh, well," said MacPherson, "strikes hurt worst at the time, but
strikes are just like boils, a sign of something wrong inside. And
short-time and lay-offs--well, ye can't expect the factory to go on
making golden oak rockers just to store in the sheds. Somebody has to
buy 'em. But the boys ain't happy over four-day weeks, let alone no jobs
at all."

His sociology professor at Cartwright, J.W. recalled, had talked a good
deal about the labor question, but maybe this foreman knew something
about it too. So J.W. put it up to him: "What is at the bottom of it
all, MacPherson? What makes the thing the papers call 'labor unrest'?"

MacPherson hesitated a moment. Then he settled himself more comfortably
on a pile of boards and proceeded to deliver his soul, or part of it.

"I can tell you; but there's them that would ship me out of town if I
talked too much, so I'll have to be careful. John Wesley, you've got a
grand name, and the church John Wesley started has a good name, though
it's not my church. I'm a Scot, you know. But I know your preacher, and
he and I are of the same mind about this, I know. Well, then, if your
Methodist Church could find a method with labor, it would get hold of
the same sort of common people as the ones who heard Jesus gladly. These
working-men are not in the way of being saints, ye ken, but they think
that somewhere there is a rotten spot in the world of factories and
shops and mills. They think they learn from experience, who by the way,
is the dominie of a high-priced school, that they get most of the losses
and few of the profits of industry. They get a living wage when times
are good. When times are bad they lose the one thing they've got to
sell, and that's their day's work; when a loafing day is gone there's