John had left his house, and was walking slowly by Mr. Hughes' side. A gesture had invited him to do so.
"I'm afraid the poor wives and children are the worst sufferers."
"Likely to be," said John. "Sarah and I, we've nothing to complain of—thanks to you and to Mr. Bertie. But them poor Stevenses next door—"
"Stevens joined the strike?"
"Yes, sir; and he don't belong to the Union. I don't know how ever he gets along. His wife is getting as thin—"
"I dare say I can give you a basket of cake and odds and ends for her, poor thing! Can you come with me for it?"
"Now, sir?"
"Yes, now. No time like the present. Poor fellows!" murmured Mr. Hughes, as they passed another group of idlers. "They look very deplorable this morning. Rather different from their state of excitement under one of Pope's orations."
"That sort of excitement don't last," said John. "But I suppose it's the only way to get hold of them."
"Speechifying is, you mean?"