“You’d be better at home, my little lad,” she said, “till you’re a bit older. There’s no place like home.”
Those same words had been sounding in Frank’s ears all night. They seemed to meet him everywhere, he thought, like a sort of warning. Nevertheless he was not going to give up his plan, and having learned the direction of the overseer’s office he turned to leave the shop.
“And here’s summat to set yer teeth in as you go along,” said the woman, holding out a long roll of bread. “Growing lads should allus be eatin’.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Frank, and he took off his cap politely, as he had been taught at school, and went his way.
“As pretty behaved as possible,” murmured the woman as she looked after him, “and off with his hat like a prince. What sort o’ folks does he belong to, I wonder!”
The overseer’s office was a small dark room with a high desk in it, at which sat a sandy-haired red-faced man, with his hat very much on the back of his head. He was talking in a loud blustering voice to several workmen, and as Frank entered he heard the last part of the speech.
“So you can tell Smorthwaite and the rest of ’em that they can come on again on the old terms, but they’ll not get a farthing more. Well, boy,” as he noticed Frank standing humbly in the background, “what do you want?”
Mr Green’s manner was that of an incensed and much-tried man, and Frank felt quite afraid to speak.
“Please, sir,” he said, “do you want a boy in the factory?”
“Do I want a boy!” repeated the overseer, addressing the ceiling in a voice of despair. “No, of course I don’t want a boy. If I had my will I’d have no boys in the place—I’m sick of the sight of boys.”