“Well, but have you seen Elliott since? Lord! I should love to see him look chap-fallen when he finds the power is with us.” “’Tis for us to look chap-fallen, I think,” said Allen, trying to disengage his button; “where’s the power if more such orders go the same way?” “Stop, Allen, one thing more. Do you know, several of us are of a mind that it is a disgrace to the Union that Wooller, with his large family, has no more on a pay-day than Briggs.” “Briggs has a sick wife, and his children are too young to work.” “Wooller must have more, however, and that you’ll find to your cost, if you don’t take care. Pretty encouragement to turn out, indeed, if such a man as he is to be sacrificed to worse men than himself!” “Let him carry his complaint to the proper place, if he is discontented. The committee ordered his allowance, and it is they must alter it, not I.” Allen now thought he had made his escape; but his gossip called after him that he had something to tell him on which the whole fate of the strike depended. Allen was all ear in a moment. It was said, and on very good authority, that the masters would never employ a Manchester man again. They had sent to Glasgow and to Belfast, and all over England, and if they could not get workmen enough by these means, they would bring them in troops from abroad. “Who told you this?” said Allen, laughing. “That’s between him and me,” replied the gossip mysteriously; “but you may rely upon it, it is true.” “Aye, we have been told so twice a day since we turned out,” said Allen; “but that is no reason why we should believe it. You might as well tell me they mean to take their mills on their backs and march over the sea to America.” “You may laugh, sir, but I’m far from as sure as you that we are not going to ruin.” “I am sure of no such thing,” replied Allen. “I wish I were; but if we are ruined, it will not be by French people spinning in Chorlton Row.” A knot of smokers, each with as much to say, stood or lolled about the door of the Spread-Eagle. Allen looked at the window of the committee-room, and wished he could have got in that way; but there was no escape from the file of questioners. Several of his companions were ready to tell him that he was late, when he at length took his seat at the end of the table, and began to arrange his papers. “I know it; but I left home half an hour since. I have been stopped by the way.” “And so you always will be. You’re so soft, man, you’re not fit for office if you can’t say ‘no.’” Dooley, the representative of the Irish hand-loom weavers, here took up Allen’s defence, urging that it would be too hard if the people out of office might not make their remarks to those who were in; and that a secretary must be as stony-hearted as the last speaker to refuse them a hearing.