"Very well; let's take it at that," said Mrs. Gass, with equanimity. "Let's take it that it _lasts_, this state of things. What's to come of it?" Webb, an intelligent man and superior workman, looked out straight before him thoughtfully, as if searching a solution to the question. Mrs. Gass, finding he did not answer, resumed: "If the Trades' Unions can find you permanently in food and drink, and clothes and firing, well and good. Let 'em do it: there'd be no more to say. But if they can't?" "They undertake to keep us as long as the masters hold out." "And the money--where's it had from?" "Subscribed. All the working bodies throughout the United Kingdom subscribe to support the Trades' Unions, ma'am." "I heard," said Mrs. Gass, "that you were not getting quite as liberal a keep from the Trades' Unions as they gave you to begin upon." "That's true," interrupted one named Foster, who very much resented the shortening of supplies. Mrs. Gass gave a toss to her lace parasol. "I heard, too--I've seen, for the matter of that--that your wives had begun to spout their spare crockery," said she. "What'll you do when the allowance grows less and less till it comes to nothing, and _all_ your things is at the pawnshop?" One or two of them laughed slightly. Not at her figures of speech--the homely language was their own--but at the improbability of the picture she called up. It was a state of affairs impossible to arise, they answered, whilst they had the Trades' Unions at their backs. "_Is_n't it," said Mrs. Gass. "Those that live longest 'll see most. There's strikes agate all over the country. You know that, my men." Of course the men knew it. But for the general example set by others, they might never have struck themselves. "Very good," said Mrs. Gass. "Now look here. You can see out before you just as well as I can, you men; your senses are as sharp as mine. When nearly the whole country goes on the strike, where are the subscriptions to come from for the Trades' Unions? Don't it stand to common reason that there'll be nobody to pay 'em? Who'll keep you then?" It was the very thing wanted--that all the country should go on strike; for then the masters must give in, was the reply. And then the men stood their ground and looked at her. Mrs. Gass shook her head; the feathers waved. She supposed it must be as Richard North had said--the men in their prejudice really could not foresee what might be looming in the future. "It seems no good my talking," she resumed; "I've said it before. If you don't come to repent, my name's not Mary Gass. I'm far from wishing it; goodness knows; and I shall be heartily sorry for your wives and children when the misery comes upon 'em. Not for _you_; because you are bringing it deliberate on yourselves."