“Well, what does the grinder say, then?”
“Says he'd rather run the stone out, than lose a forenoon.”
“Well, sir, it is his business.”
“It may be a man's business to hang himself; but it is the bystanders' to hinder him.”
“You mistake me. I mean that the grinder is the only man who knows whether a stone is safe.”
“Well, but this grinder does not pretend his stone is safe. All he says is, safe or not, he'll run it out. So now the question is, will you pay four shillings from your box for this blockhead's loss of time in hanging and racing a new stone?”
All the four secretaries opened their eyes with surprise at this. But Grotait merely said he had no authority to do that; the funds of the Union were set apart for specified purposes.
“Very likely,” said Henry, getting warm: “but, when there's life to be TAKEN, your Union can find money irregularly; so why grudge it, when there's life to be saved perhaps, and ten times cheaper than you pay for blood?”
“Young man,” said Grotait, severely, “did you come here to insult us with these worn-out slanders?”
“No, but I came to see whether you secretaries, who can find pounds to assassinate men, and blow up women and children with gunpowder, can find shillings to secure the life of one of your own members; he risks it every time he mounts his horsing.”