Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles. Henry Wood

they quite decline them? Because, I can tell thee what. We have some strips of bedside carpet not being used, and I would not mind lending them till thee can buy others. It is a pity thee should lose the letting for the sake of a bit of carpet."

      Jane looked up gratefully. "What should I have done without you, Patience?"

      "Nay, it is not much: thee art welcome. I would not risk the carpet with unknown people, but Hannah Dobbs is cleanly and careful."

      "She has a very repelling manner," observed Jane.

      "It is not agreeable," assented Patience, with a smile; "but she is attached to her mistress, and serves her faithfully."

      Jane sat down to practise upon the leather, watching the road at the same time. In about an hour she saw Mrs. Reece and Dobbs returning. William went out, and asked if they would step in.

      They were already coming. They had seen nothing they liked so well. Jane said she believed she could promise them bedside carpets.

      "Then, I think we will decide, ma'am," said the old lady. "We saw one set of rooms, very nice ones; and they asked only seventeen shillings a-week: but they have a young man lodger, a pupil at the infirmary, and he comes home at all hours of the night. Dobbs questioned them till they confessed that it was so."

      "I know what them infirmary pupils is," indignantly put in Dobbs. "I am not going to suffer my missis to come in contact with their habits. There ain't one of 'em as thinks anything of stopping out till morning light. And before the sun's up they'll have a pipe in their mouths, filling the house with smoke! It's said, too, that there's mysterious big boxes brought to 'em, for what they call the 'furtherance of science': perhaps some of the churchyard sextons could tell what's in 'em!"

      "Well, Dobbs. I think we may take this good lady's rooms. I'm sure we shan't get better suited elsewhere."

      Dobbs only grunted. She was tired with her walk, and had really no objection to the rooms; except as to price: that, she persisted in disputing as outrageous.

      "I suppose you would not take less?" said the old lady to Jane.

      Jane hesitated; but it was impossible for her to be otherwise than candid and truthful. "I would take a trifle less, sooner than not let you the rooms; but I am very poor, and every shilling is a consideration to me."

      "Well, I will take them at the price," concluded the good-natured old lady. "And Dobbs, if you grumble, I can't help it. Can we come in—let me see?—this is Wednesday–"

      "I won't come in on a Friday for anybody," interrupted Dobbs fiercely.

      "We will come in on Tuesday next, ma'am," decided the old lady. "Before that, I'll send in a trolley of coal, if you'll be so kind as to receive it."

      "And to lock it up," snapped Dobbs.

      CHAPTER XX.

      THE GLOVE OPERATIVES

      At the hours of going to and leaving work, the Helstonleigh streets were alive with glove operatives, some being in one branch of the trade, some in another. There were parers, grounders, leather-sorters, dyers, cutters, makers-up, and so on: all being necessary, besides the sewing, to turn out one pair of gloves; though, I dare say, you did not think it. The wages varied according to the particular work, or the men's ability and industry, from fifteen shillings a week to twenty-five: but all could earn a good living. If a man gained more than twenty-five, he had a stated salary; as was the case with the foremen. These wages, joined to what was earned by the women, were sufficient to maintain a comfortable home, and to bring up children decently. Unfortunately the same drawbacks prevailed in Helstonleigh that are but too common elsewhere; and they may be classed under one general head—improvidence. The men were given to idling away at the public-houses more time than was good for them: the women to scold and to quarrel. Some were slatterns; and a great many gave their husbands the welcome of a home of discomfort, ill-management, and dirt: which, of course, had the effect of sending them out all the more surely.

      Just about this period, the men had their especial grievance—or thought they had: and that was, a low rate of wages and not full employment. Had they paid a visit to other places and compared their wages with some earned by operatives of a different class, they had found less cause to complain. The men were rather given to comparing present wages with those they had earned before the dark crisis (dark as far as Helstonleigh's trade was concerned) when the British ports were opened to foreign gloves. But few, comparatively speaking, of the manufacturers had weathered that storm. Years have elapsed since then: but the employment remained scarce, and the wages (I have quoted them to you) low. Altogether, the men were, many of them, dissatisfied. They even went so far as to talk of a "strike"; strikes being less common in those days than they are in these.

      It was Saturday night, and the streets were crowded. The hands were pouring out of the different manufactories; clean-looking, respectable workmen, as a whole: for the branches of glove-making are for the most part of a cleanly nature. Some wore their white aprons; some had rolled them up round their waists. A few—very few, it must be owned—were going to their homes, but the greater portion were bound for the public-house.

      One of the most extensively patronised of the public-houses was The Cutters' Arms. On a Saturday night, when the men's pockets were lined, this would be crowded. The men flocked into it now and filled it, although its room for entertainment was very large. The order from most of them was a pint of mild ale and some tobacco.

      "Any news, Joe Fisher?" asked a man, when the pipes were set going.

      Joe Fisher tossed his head and growled. He was a tall, dark man; clothes and condition both dilapidated. The questioner took a few whiffs, and repeated his question. Joe growled again, but did not speak.

      "Well, you might give a chap a civil answer, Fisher."

      "What's the matter, you two?" cried a third.

      "Ben Wilks asks me is there any news!" called out Fisher, indignantly. "I thought he might ha' heered on't without asking. Our pay was docked again to-night; that's the news."

      "No!" uttered Wilks.

      "It were," said Fisher savagely. "A shilling a week less, good. Who's a-going to stand it?"

      "There ain't no help for standing it," interposed a quiet-looking man named Wheeler. "I suppose the masters is forced to lower. They say so."

      "Have your master forced hisself to it?" angrily retorted Fisher.

      "Well, Fisher, you know I'm fortunate. As all is that gets in to work at Ashley's."

      "And precious good care they take to stop in!" cried Fisher, much aggravated. "No danger that Ashley's hands'll give way and afford outsiders a chance."

      "Why should they give way?" sensibly asked Wheeler. "You need never think to get in at Ashley's, Fisher, so there's no cause for you to grumble."

      A titter went round at Fisher's expense. He did not like it. "I might stand my chance with others, if there was room. Who says I couldn't? Come, now!"

      A man laughed. "You had better ask Samuel Lynn that question, Fisher. Why, he wouldn't look at you! You are not steady enough for him."

      "Samuel Lynn may go along for a ill-natured broadbrim!" was Fisher's retort. "There'd not be half the difficulty in getting in with Mr. Ashley hisself."

      "Yes, there would," said Wheeler, quietly. "Mr. Ashley pays first wages, and he'll have first hands. Quaker Lynn knows what he's about."

      "Don't dispute about nothing, Fisher," interrupted a voice, borne through the clouds of smoke from the far end of the room. "To lose a shilling a week is bad, but not so bad as losing all. I have heard ill news this evening."

      Fisher stretched up his long neck. "Who's that a-talking? Is it Mr. Crouch?"

      It was Stephen Crouch; the foreman in a large firm, and a respectable, intelligent man. "Do you remember, any of you, that a report arose some time ago about Wilson and King? A report that died away again?"

      "That they were on their last legs," replied several voices. "Well?"

      "Well, they are off them now," continued Stephen Crouch.

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