Nobody showed any inclination to give way. There was no talk, as yet, of compromise. Masters and men alike stood firm, holding resolutely each to his own view of the matter, refusing resolutely each to take a kind and unselfish view of the difficulties on the other side.
For of course there were two sides to the question, as there always are, each side having its own share of wrong and of right. The masters had their heavy expenses; their wearing anxieties; their fluctuations in profits. The men had their large families, more or less; their many needs; their comparatively low wages. A little measure of true sympathy and understanding on either side for the other, might have shortened the struggle; but the masters did not fully understand the men's position, and the men were far from sympathizing with the masters' position.
It was a dull cold sky; the sky overhead being black, the mud underfoot blacker still. Sleety rain fell off and on upon the scores of idle loungers in Pleasant Lane and other streets. Many of the loungers took refuge in public-houses—for however badly off the strikers might be, they almost always seemed to have something to spend there.
The usual stir of the busy town was hushed. All sound of engine and hammer had ceased. Work was at an end. Wages were at an end. Food in too many houses threatened to be soon at an end also.
Peter Pope was not just now at hand; and the recollection of a stirring speech the evening before was not enough to prevent down-heartedness this morning. Many of those poor fellows, lolling idly about, were simply ready to do whatever they were told. Peter Pope desired them to hold out; and so they did hold out. But if each one had been questioned separately as to his real feeling in the matter, the answer in nine cases out of ten would have been—
"Give me work, and let me earn bread for my little ones—" irrespective of those "rights" about which Peter Pope eloquently declaimed.
John Holdfast had come out of his house for a breath of air, and he stood at the gate looking about. A fortnight of suffering had rendered him pale and gaunt. The cut on his forehead was nearly healed, but his right arm was still in a sling, and very helpless.
There had been a great stir about John's injuries; but all attempts to identify John's injurers had failed. John had recognized no faces; and everybody else professed entire ignorance. Men of the better class were utterly ashamed of the miserable affair; but few had courage to speak out what they thought, or to give open sympathy to John.
"Good morning, Holdfast. How's the arm to-day, eh?" asked Mr. Hughes, coming at a brisk pace through Pleasant Lane.
Many a visit had Mr. Hughes paid to John lately; and many a supply of food had Stuckey brought from the Rectory. Much kindness had also been shown, and much practical help given, by the heads of the firm for which John worked. So, in point of fact, he and his family had suffered far less from the strike, thus far, than others.