'Why, yo' see, there's five or six masters who have set

themselves again paying the wages they've been paying these two

years past, and flourishing upon, and getting richer upon. And

now they come to us, and say we're to take less. And we won't.

We'll just clem them to death first; and see who'll work for 'em

then. They'll have killed the goose that laid 'em the golden

eggs, I reckon.' 'And so you plan dying, in order to be revenged upon them!' 'No,' said he, 'I dunnot. I just look forward to the chance of

dying at my post sooner than yield. That's what folk call fine

and honourable in a soldier, and why not in a poor weaver-chap?' 'But,' said Margaret, 'a soldier dies in the cause of the

Nation--in the cause of others.' He laughed grimly. 'My lass,' said he, 'yo're but a young wench,

but don't yo' think I can keep three people--that's Bessy, and

Mary, and me--on sixteen shilling a week? Dun yo' think it's for

mysel' I'm striking work at this time? It's just as much in the

cause of others as yon soldier--only m'appen, the cause he dies

for is just that of somebody he never clapt eyes on, nor heerd on

all his born days, while I take up John Boucher's cause, as lives

next door but one, wi' a sickly wife, and eight childer, none on

'em factory age; and I don't take up his cause only, though he's

a poor good-for-nought, as can only manage two looms at a time,

but I take up th' cause o' justice. Why are we to have less wage

now, I ask, than two year ago?' 'Don't ask me,' said Margaret; 'I am very ignorant. Ask some of

your masters. Surely they will give you a reason for it. It is

not merely an arbitrary decision of theirs, come to without

reason.' 'Yo're just a foreigner, and nothing more,' said he,

contemptuously. 'Much yo' know about it. Ask th' masters! They'd

tell us to mind our own business, and they'd mind theirs. Our

business being, yo' understand, to take the bated' wage, and be

thankful, and their business to bate us down to clemming point,

to swell their profits. That's what it is.' 'But said Margaret, determined not to give way, although she saw

she was irritating him, 'the state of trade may be such as not to

enable them to give you the same remuneration.

'State o' trade! That's just a piece o' masters' humbug. It's

rate o' wages I was talking of. Th' masters keep th' state o'

trade in their own hands; and just walk it forward like a black

bug-a-boo, to frighten naughty children with into being good.

I'll tell yo' it's their part,--their cue, as some folks call

it,--to beat us down, to swell their fortunes; and it's ours to

stand up and fight hard,--not for ourselves alone, but for them

round about us--for justice and fair play. We help to make their

profits, and we ought to help spend 'em. It's not that we want

their brass so much this time, as we've done many a time afore.

We'n getten money laid by; and we're resolved to stand and fall

together; not a man on us will go in for less wage than th' Union

says is our due. So I say, "hooray for the strike," and let

Thornton, and Slickson, and Hamper, and their set look to it!' 'Thornton!' said Margaret. 'Mr. Thornton of Marlborough Street?' 'Aye! Thornton o' Marlborough Mill, as we call him.' 'He is one of the masters you are striving with, is he not? What

sort of a master is he?' 'Did yo' ever see a bulldog? Set a bulldog on hind legs, and

dress him up in coat and breeches, and yo'n just getten John

Thornton.' 'Nay,' said Margaret, laughing, 'I deny that. Mr. Thornton is

plain enough, but he's not like a bulldog, with its short broad

nose, and snarling upper lip.' 'No! not in look, I grant yo'. But let John Thornton get hold on

a notion, and he'll stick to it like a bulldog; yo' might pull

him away wi' a pitch-fork ere he'd leave go. He's worth fighting

wi', is John Thornton. As for Slickson, I take it, some o' these

days he'll wheedle his men back wi' fair promises; that they'll

just get cheated out of as soon as they're in his power again.

He'll work his fines well out on 'em, I'll warrant. He's as

slippery as an eel, he is. He's like a cat,--as sleek, and

cunning, and fierce. It'll never be an honest up and down fight

wi' him, as it will be wi' Thornton. Thornton's as dour as a

door-nail; an obstinate chap, every inch on him,--th' oud

bulldog!' 'Poor Bessy!' said Margaret, turning round to her. 'You sigh over

it all. You don't like struggling and fighting as your father

does, do you?' 'No!' said she, heavily. 'I'm sick on it. I could have wished to

have had other talk about me in my latter days, than just the

clashing and clanging and clattering that has wearied a' my life

long, about work and wages, and masters, and hands, and

knobsticks.' 'Poor wench! latter days be farred! Thou'rt looking a sight

better already for a little stir and change. Beside, I shall be a

deal here to make it more lively for thee.' 'Tobacco-smoke chokes me!' said she, querulously.




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