"We don't care what else isn't ready. They want the phones. And they're going to get them. The phones have to be in and operating by April 17. I don't care what expenses, what delays you have. April 17."

That was management. You could expect that sort of excitability from management. What was surprising was that the union was worse. It had started at the screening.

Jimmy McQuade had not known it was a screening. He had been invited by the international vice-president himself to union headquarters in Washington. The union would pick up his lost time. He had thought at first he was going to be appointed to some national labor post.

"I guess you want to know why I asked you here," said the international vice-president. He sat behind a desk remarkably like the one used by the vice-president of the phone company. Although here the window opened to the Washington Monument instead of Lake Michigan.

"No," said Jimmy smiling. 'I thought we'd play pinochle until the summer, then maybe go golfing until the fall."

"Heh, heh, heh," laughed the vice-president. He didn't sound as if his mirth were real. "McQuade. How good a union man are you?"

"I'm a shop steward."

"I mean how good?"

"Good."

"Do you love your union?"

"Yeah. I guess so."

"You guess so. If it were a choice between the union or going to jail, would you go to jail? Think about it."

"You mean if someone were trying to break the union?"

"Right."

Jimmy McQuade thought a moment. "Yes," he said. "I'd go to jail."

"Do you think union business is anybody else's business?"

"Well, not if we're not doing anything illegal."