‘Wherever one goes, one comes upon that river,’ exclaimed Otho, not as if he were much delighted with the fact. ‘Yes. Tees keeps us pretty well aware of his presence. It’s as twisted and crooked a stream as any in England, I should imagine. There are the mills, Askam. Now, I’ll tell you my object in life, if you like.’ ‘What is it?’ asked Otho, with deep and unfeigned interest. ‘I wish—at least, I intend to overcome the obstacle raised in my way by the idiot who built these mills. I like overcoming obstacles. I intend, some day, either to have them sold, and the price of them in my pocket, or else to see them filled with machinery, and working again at a profit.’ ‘But you don’t understand how to manage mills,’ said Otho diffidently. ‘No, but I understand how to manage men. And I know a fellow who understands how to manage mills—Roger Camm. Do you remember Roger Camm? He used to be a playfellow of ours—the curate’s son.’ ‘A swarthy fellow, very big and strong, who always looked rather hungry, and yet always said he wasn’t when we used to go in to tea?’ ‘The same. I see you have an accurate memory. I guess he was hungry too, poor beggar. He was over here, a year or two ago, stopping with Michael; they are great chums. And he told me all about himself. He cut the Church. He said his governor never got anything out of it but water-porridge and civil contempt from people who weren’t as good as himself. He was rather bitter about it. Anyhow, he cut it, as I say, and took to the intelligent working-man line. He is foreman in a Manchester factory now, and he knows something about it all, I can tell you. I made him promise that when I sent for him he’d come and take the management of this concern—“run it” for me, as they say in America.’ ‘Ah, and when will that be?’ ‘When I find my purchaser or tenant,’ said Gilbert, as suavely as ever. ‘He told me all the reasons why these would never succeed as cotton factories—they are the only mills in the place; the station is a mile and a half away, and there is a steep hill, nearly half a mile long, from here to the top of the town. Oh, I’ve mastered the subject. Jute—that is what I shall do with them—spin jute, and get women and girls out of Bridge Street for hands.’ ‘Yes?’ said Otho, tentatively, really interested, and ardently wishing that he understood a little more about it. ‘And your father and—brother?’ Michael’s name seemed rather to stick in his throat. ‘My father says he only wishes I could. Michael is dead against it. Michael would like to pull the whole place down.’ ‘What for?’ asked Otho, sharply. ‘Because he’s a fool,’ was Gilbert’s reply. The intimacy between him and Otho had, it would seem, progressed quickly.