Fall of Giants

Lev agreed. He had taken a dollar from Gus Dewar in Petrograd in 1914, and last year he had taken Gus’s fiancée just as easily. “I wanted to talk to you about the strike,” he said, sitting in the leather armchair opposite Hoyle.

“The Advertiser has already condemned the strikers as un-American socialists and revolutionaries,” Hoyle said. “What more can we do?”

“Call them enemy agents,” Lev said. “They’re holding up the production of vehicles that our boys are going to need when they get to Europe-but the workers themselves are exempt from the draft!”

“That’s an angle.” Hoyle frowned. “But we don’t yet know how the draft is going to work.”

“It’s sure to exclude war industries.”

“That’s true.”

“And yet they’re demanding more money. A lot of people would take less for a job that keeps them out of the army.”

Hoyle took a notebook from his jacket pocket and began to write. “Take less money for a draft-exempt job,” he muttered.

“Maybe you want to ask: whose side are they on?”

“Sounds like a headline.”

Lev was surprised and pleased. It had been easy.

Hoyle looked up from his notebook. “I presume Mr. V knows we’re having this conversation?”

Lev had not anticipated this question. He grinned to cover his confusion. If he said no, Hoyle would drop the whole thing immediately. “Yes, of course,” he lied. “In fact it was his idea.”

{IV}

Vyalov asked Gus to meet him at the yacht club. Brian Hall proposed a conference at the Buffalo office of the union. Each wanted to meet on his own ground, where he would feel confident and in charge. So Gus took a meeting room at the Statler Hotel.

Lev Peshkov had attacked the strikers as draft dodgers, and the Advertiser had put his comments on the front page, under the headline WHOSE SIDE ARE THEY ON? When Gus saw the paper he had been dismayed: such aggressive talk could only escalate the dispute. But Lev’s effort had backfired. This morning’s papers reported a storm of protest from workers in other war industries, indignant at the suggestion that they should receive low wages on account of their privileged status, and furious at being labeled draft dodgers. Lev’s clumsiness heartened Gus, but he knew that Vyalov was his real enemy, and that made him nervous.

Gus brought all the papers with him to the Statler and put them out on a side table in the meeting room. In a prominent position he placed a popular rag with the headline WILL YOU JOIN UP, LEV?

Gus had asked Brian Hall to get there a quarter of an hour before Vyalov. The union leader showed up on the dot. He wore a smart suit and a gray felt hat, Gus noted. That was good tactics. It was a mistake to look inferior, even if you represented the workers. Hall was as formidable, in his own way, as Vyalov.

Hall saw the newspapers and grinned. “Young Lev made a mistake,” he said with satisfaction. “He’s fetched himself a pile of trouble.”

“Manipulating the press is a dangerous game,” Gus said. He got right down to business. “You’re asking for a dollar-a-day increase.”

“It’s only ten cents more than my men were getting before Vyalov bought the plant, and-”

“Never mind all that,” Gus interrupted, showing more boldness than he felt. “If I can get you fifty cents, will you take it?”

Hall looked dubious. “I’d have to put it to the men-”

“No,” Gus said. “You have to decide now.” He prayed his nervousness was not showing.

Hall prevaricated. “Has Vyalov agreed to this?”

“I’ll worry about Vyalov. Fifty cents, take it or leave it.” Gus resisted an urge to wipe his forehead.

Hall gave Gus a long, appraising stare. Behind the pugnacious look there was a shrewd brain, Gus suspected. At last Hall said: “We’ll take it-for now.”

“Thank you.” Gus managed not to let out his breath in a long sigh of relief. “Would you like coffee?”

“Sure.”

Gus turned away, grateful to be able to hide his face, and pressed the bell for a waiter.

Josef Vyalov and Lev Peshkov walked in. Gus did not shake hands. “Sit down,” he said curtly.

Vyalov’s eyes went to the newspapers on the side table, and a look of anger crossed his face. Gus guessed that Lev was already in trouble over those headlines.

He tried not to stare at Lev. This was the chauffeur who had seduced Gus’s fiancée-but that must not be allowed to cloud Gus’s judgment. He would have liked to punch Lev in the face. However, if this meeting went according to plan the result would be more humiliating to Lev than a punch-and much more satisfying to Gus.

A waiter appeared, and Gus said: “Bring coffee for my guests, please, and a plate of ham sandwiches.” He deliberately did not ask them what they wanted. He had seen Woodrow Wilson act like this with people he wanted to intimidate.

He sat down and opened a folder. It contained a blank sheet of paper. He pretended to read it.

Lev sat down and said: “So, Gus, the president has sent you up here to negotiate with us.”