Several times, Geraldine and Nelda aimed halfhearted feline
swipes at one another, more out of custom than present and active
rancor. The women seemed to have erected a temporary tri-partite
_Entente_-more-or-less-_Cordiale_.
Finally, the meal ended, and the diners drifted away from the table. Rand
went to his room for a few moments, then went to the gunroom to get the
notes he had made. Fred Dunmore was using the private phone as he
entered.
"Well, never mind about that, now," he was saying. "We'll talk about
it when I see you.... Yes, of course; so am I.... Well, say about
eleven.... Be seeing you."
He hung up and turned to Rand. "More God-damned union trouble," he said.
"It's enough to make a saint lose his religion! Our factory-hands are
organized in the C.I.O., and our warehouse, sales, and shipping personnel
are in the A.F. of L., and if they aren't fighting the company, they're
fighting each other. Now they have some damn kind of a jurisdictional
dispute.... I don't know what this country's coming to!" He glared
angrily through his octagonal glasses for a moment. Then his voice took
on an ingratiating note. "Look here, Colonel; I just didn't understand
the situation, until you explained it.
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