Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
"—feel sure that a settlement can be effected out of court—" The case was thrown out on its ear. was going to be a bad day. As he pushed his way nervously him the instant the morning buzzer had gone off, making it even more tempting than usual just to roll over and forget on the clock and one eye on his growing sense of impending crisis. And now, to make things just a trifle worse, he was going to be late again. then the humor grew more and Bailey was once again in Torkleson's office. "Well? Speak up! What's the beef this time?" "Sir—the men—I mean, there's been some nasty talk. more remote. Finally, late in the afternoon of the eighth day, He struggled doggedly across the rumbling Exit strip toward the plant entrance. After all, he told himself, why should he be Torkleson's ruddy cheeks paled. "Board meeting, huh?" He licked his heavy lips. "Now look, Bailey, we've always Oh, not because of the lateness . Of course Bailey, the shop steward, would take his usual delight in bringing that up. But the strike broken in another few hours. Tell them anything." hand he lifted the visiphone receiver. "Get me Walter Towne," He waited until Bailey was gone. Then, with a trembling anticipated dividend reports. Walter shook his head wearily. miserably, waving his fat paws in the air as he paced back and forth in front of the spokesmen for the striking managers. "Perhaps we were a little demanding, I concede it! Overenthusiastic and tried vainly to straighten the celluloid collar that kept scooting his tie up under his ear. Once off the moving strip, he Walter Towne stifled a yawn. "Perhaps you didn't understand Maybe his secretary's two neurones would fail to synapse this morning, and she'd lose them altogether. And, as long as he was dreaming, maybe Bailey would break his neck on the way to work. He walked quickly past the workers' lounge, glancing in at the groups of men, arguing politics and checking the business suits to their welding dungarees. Running up the stairs to the administrative wing, he paused outside the door to punch the time clock. 8:04. Damn. If only Bailey could be sick— Bailey was not sick. The administrative offices were humming with frantic activity as Walter glanced down the rows of cubbyholes. In the middle of it all sat Bailey, in his black-and-yellow morning Western yet. He was busy glaring, first at the clock, then at Walter. "Late again, I see," the shop steward growled. Walter gulped. "Yes, sir. Just four minutes, this time, sir. "So it's just four minutes now, eh?" Bailey's feet came down you're a vice president it's all right to mosey in here whenever you feel like it." He glowered. "Well, this is three times this month you've been late, Towne. That's a demerit for each time, and you know what that means." "You wouldn't count four minutes as a whole demerit!" Bailey grinned. "Wouldn't I, now! You just add up your pay envelope on Friday. Ten cents an hour off for each demerit." Walter sighed and shuffled back to his desk. Oh, well. It could have been worse. They might have fired him like poor rose with a howl of anger when Walter Towne walked out on Cartwright last month. He'd just paced the stage, his fat body shaking with agitation, pointing " Walter jumped a foot. Bailey was putting down the visiphone receiver. His grin spread unpleasantly from ear to ear. "What have you been doing lately? Sabotaging the production line?" "What's the trouble now?" Bailey jerked a thumb significantly at the ceiling. "The boss wants to see you. And you'd better have the right answers, too. The boss seems to have a lot of questions." Walter rose slowly from his seat. This was it, then. Torkleson instant of silence as the factory whistle died away, Walter The secretary flipped down the desk switch and eyed Walter well-dressed pounds and glared at Walter from under flagrant all day?" Walter reddened. "He organizes the work of the plant, establishes "I've been doing everything I could," Walter snapped. "Of Walter Towne chuckled. "Doesn't it? I don't know. Everything's Walter felt the fight go out of him like a dying wind. He Back in his cubbyhole downstairs, Walter stared hopelessly It was wrong, all the way down the line. Walter had fought it tooth and nail since the day Torkleson had installed the moose heads in Walter's old office, and moved him down to the cubbyhole, under Bailey's watchful eye. He had argued, and battled, and pleaded, and lost. He had watched the company deteriorate day by day. Now they blamed him, and threatened his job, and he was helpless to do anything about it. anything, Walter? They wouldn't be watching the house?" Walter turned on him sharply. "For new contracts. Contracts Torkleson, condemning Towne and his followers for "flagrant Walter Towne remembered those stormy days well. The and higher dividends, year after year, moving steadily toward the inevitable crisis. Until Shop Steward Bailey suddenly found himself in charge of a dozen sputtering machines and an empty office. Torkleson was waiting to see the shop steward when he came in next morning. The union boss's office was crowded was littered with piles of ominous-looking paper. Torkleson was shouting into a telephone, and three lawyers were shouting into Torkleson's ear. He spotted Bailey and waved him through the crowd into an inner office room. "Well? Did they get them fixed?" Bailey spread his hands nervously. "The electronics boys have been at it since yesterday afternoon. Practically had the machines apart on the floor." ?" Bailey's face was a study in misery. "The machines just go in circles. The circuits are locked. They just reverberate." "Then call American Electronics. Have them send down an expert crew." Bailey shook his head. "They won't come." "They what "Get them moving," Torkleson howled. "They'll start those machines again, or I'll have them in jail so fast—" He turned back to Bailey. "What about the production lines?" The shop steward's face lighted. "They slipped up, there. There was one program that hadn't been coded into the machines bit. You put the program through, and give those electronics men three more hours to unsnarl this knot, or we throw them out of the union." He started for the door. "What were the blueprints for?" The workers grew restive. From the first day, Towne and remained. The third day, Jeff Bates was served with an injunction ordering Towne to return to work. It was duly appealed, legal machinery began tying itself in knots, and the strikers still struck. By the fifth day there was a more serious note. "You're going to have to appear, Walter. We can't dodge this one." "When?" "Tomorrow morning. And before a labor-rigged judge, too." The little lawyer paced his office nervously. "I don't like it. "We'll see," said Walter. "What time tomorrow?" "Ten o'clock." Bates looked up. "And don't try to skip. Walter was there a half hour early. Torkleson's legal staff Walter yawned as the words went on. were sabotaged, we will be happy to formally withdraw these charges." There was a rustle of sound through the courtroom. His "Objection," Bates exclaimed. "We've already pleaded."

<question>:
Why was Walter Towne worried about going to work that day?

<options>:
A There was a lot of traffic on the Exit Strip
B He was feeling sick that day
C He didn't want to speak to Torkleson about the reports
D He didn't want a demerit from Bailey for being late

<answer>:

C