English fiction -- 19th century; Labor unions -- Fiction
“No slop-basin was ever deeper. So leave it for the present, and go
to work. Here are cards admitting you, as my commissioner, to all the
principal works. Begin with--Stop a moment, while I put myself in your
place. Let me see, 'Cheetham's grinders think they have turned me out of
Hillsborough. That mortifies a young man of merit like me. Confound
'em! I should like to show them they have not the power to drive me out.
Combine how they will, I rise superior. I forge as they could not forge:
that was my real crime. Well, I'll be their superior still. I'm their
inspector, and their benefactor, at higher wages than they, poor devils,
will ever earn at inspecting and benefiting, or any thing else.' Ah!
your color rises. I've hit the right nail, isn't it an excellent and
most transmigratory art? Then begin with Cheetham. By-the-bye, the
Anomaly has spotted a defective grindstone there. Scrutinize all his
departments severely; for no man values his people's lives less than my
good friend John Cheetham. Away with you both; and God speed you.”
Henry walked down the street with the Anomaly, and tried to gauge his
intellects.
“What's your real name, my man?”
“Silly Billy.”
“Oh, then I'm afraid you can't do much to help me.”
“Oh yes, I can, because--”
“Because what?”
“Because I like you.”
“Well, that's lucky, any way.”
“Billy can catch trout when nobody else can,” said the youngster,
turning his eyes proudly up to Henry's.
“Oh, indeed! But you see that is not exactly what the doctor wants us
for.”
“Nay; he's wrapped up in trout. If it wasn't for Billy and the trout,
he'd die right off.”
Henry turned a look of silent pity on the boy, and left him in his
pleasing illusion. He wondered that Dr. Amboyne should have tacked this
biped on to him.
They entered Cheetham's works, and Henry marched grimly into the office,
and showed Mr. Bayne his credentials.
“Why, Little, you had no need of that.”
“Oh, it is as well to have no misunderstanding with your employer's
masters. I visit these works for my present employer, Dr. Amboyne, with
the consent of Mr. Cheetham, here written.”
“Very well, sir,” said Bayne, obsequiously; “and I respectfully solicit
the honor of conducting our esteemed visitor.”
A young man's ill-humor could not stand against this. “Come along, old
fellow,” said Henry. “I'm a bear, with a sore heart; but who could be
such a brute as quarrel with you? Let us begin with the chaps who drove
me out--the grinders. I'm hired to philanthropize 'em--d--n 'em.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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