“Yeah, and he won’t be black long, now that you’re cutting him off the payroll.”
“I think he could make more money staying black.”
“How do you figure that out?” asked Bunny.
“Well, the dime museums haven’t closed down, you know,” said Matthew.
VII
One June morning in 1934, Grand Exalted Giraw Fisher received a report from one of his secret operatives in the town of Paradise, South Carolina, saying:
“The working people here are talking about going on strike next week unless Blickdoff and Hortzenboff, the owners of the Paradise Mill increase pay and shorten hours. The average wage is around fifteen dollars a week, the work day eleven hours. In the past week the company has speeded up the work so much that the help say they cannot stand the pace.
“The owners are two Germans who came to this country after the war. They employ one thousand hands, own all of the houses in Paradise and operate all of the stores. Most of the hands belong to the Knights of Nordica and they want the organization to help them unionize. Am awaiting instructions.”
Matthew turned to Bunny and grinned. “Here’s more money,” he boasted, shaking the letter in his assistant’s face.
“What can you do about it?” that worthy inquired.
“What can I do? Well, Brother, you just watch my smoke. Tell Ruggles to get the plane ready,” he ordered. “We’ll fly over there at once.”
Two hours later Matthew’s plane sat down on the broad, close-clipped lawn in front of the Blickdoff-Hortzenboff cotton mill. Bunny and the Grand Giraw entered the building and walked to the office.
“Whom do you wish to see?” asked a clerk.
“Mr. Blickdoff, Mr. Hortzenboff or both; preferably both,” Matthew replied.
“And who’s calling?”
“The Grand Exalted Giraw of the Ancient and Honorable Order of the Knights of Nordica and his secretary,” boomed that gentleman. The awed young lady retired into an inner sanctum.
“That sure is some title,” commented Bunny in an undertone.
“Yes, Givens knows his stuff when it comes to that. The longer and sillier a title, the better the yaps like it.”
The young lady returned and announced that the two owners would be glad to receive the eminent Atlantan. Bunny and Matthew entered the office marked “Private.”
Hands were shaken, greetings exchanged and then Matthew got right down to business. He had received contributions from these two mill owners so to a certain extent they understood one another.
“Gentlemen,” he queried, “is it true that your employees are planning to strike next week?”
“So ve haff heardt,” puffed the corpulent, undersized Blickdoff.
“Well, what are you going to do about it?”
“De uszual t’ing, uff coarse,” replied Hortzenboff, who resembled a beer barrel on stilts.
“You can’t do the usual thing,” warned Matthew. “Most of these people are members of the Knights of Nordica. They are looking to us for protection and we mean to give it to them.”
“Vy ve t’ought you vas favorable,” exclaimed Blickdoff.
“Und villing to be reasonable,” added Hortzenboff.
“That’s true,” Matthew agreed, “but you’re squeezing these people too hard.”
“But ve can’t pay dem any more,” protested the squat partner. “Vot ve gonna do?”
“Oh, you fellows can’t kid me, I know you’re coining the jack; but if you think its worth ten grand to you, I think I can adjust matters,” the Grand Giraw stated.
“Ten t’ousand dollars?” the two mill men gasped.
“You’ve got good ears,” Matthew assured them. “And if you don’t come across I’ll put the whole power of my organization behind your hands. Then it’ll cost you a hundred grand to get back to normal.”
The Germans looked at each other incredulously.
“Are you t’reatening us, Meester Fisher?” whined Blickdoff.
“You’ve got a good head at figuring out things, Blickdoff,” Matthew retorted, sarcastically.
“Suppose ve refuse?” queried the heavier Teuton.
“Yeah, suppose you do. Can’t you imagine what’ll happen when I pull these people off the job?”
“Ve’ll call oudt de militia,” warned Blickdoff.
“Don’t make me laugh,” Matthew commented. “Half the militiamen are members of my outfit.”
The Germans shrugged their shoulders hopelessly while Matthew and Bunny enjoyed their confusion.
“How mutch you say you wandt?” asked Hortzenboff.
“Fifteen grand,” replied the Grand Giraw, winking at Bunny.
“Budt you joost said ten t’ousand a minute ago,” screamed Blickdoff, gesticulating.
“Well, it’s fifteen now,” said Matthew, “and it’ll be twenty grand if you babies don’t hurry up and make up your mind.”
Hortzenboff reached hastily for the big check book and commenced writing. In a moment he handed Matthew the check.
“Take this back to Atlanta in the plane,” ordered Matthew, handing the check to Bunny, “and deposit it. Safety first.” Bunny went out.
“You don’t act like you trust us,” Blickdoff accused.
“Why should I?” the ex-Negro retorted. “I’ll just stick around for a while and keep you two company. You fellows might change your mind and stop payment on that check.”
“Ve are honest men, Meester Fisher,” cried Hortzenboff.
“Now I’ll tell one,” sneered the Grand Giraw, seating himself and taking a handful of cigars out of a box on the desk.
The following evening the drab, skinny, hollow-eyed mill folk trudged to the mass meeting called by Matthew in the only building in Paradise not owned by the company—the Knights of Nordica Hall. They poured into the ramshackle building, seated themselves on the wooden benches and waited for the speaking to begin.
They were a sorry lot, undernourished, bony, vacant-looking, and yet they had seen a dim light. Without suggestion or agitation from the outside world, from which they were almost as completely cut off as if they had been in Siberia, they had talked among themselves and concluded that there was no hope for them except in organization. What they all felt they needed was wise leadership, and they looked to the Knights of Nordica for it, since they were all members of it and there was no other agency at hand. They waited now expectantly for the words of wisdom and encouragement which they expected to hear fall from the lips of their beloved Matthew Fisher, who now looked
