“Look here,” said Guy, opening a paper, “d’ye think I’ve no brains in my head? Look at the number of orders for this year, and last year, and ten years back. Look at the receipts. What’s the use of spending money on setting all those out-of-date old looms in order? Where’s the sense of manufacturing the sort of goods people don’t want, instead of what they do? Is that the way these mills were run sixty years ago, when old Mr Thomas managed the business?”
“He got the new looms, sir.”
“Exactly so; and wouldn’t he have seen long ago that they were worn out. Look here, John, we’ll have to pull up, and put our shoulders to the wheel, or we’ll have Palmer Brothers down among the failures before many months are over.”
“Eh, Mr Guy, for the Lord’s sake don’t say so. Don’t mention such a thing. ’Tis those new mills over Rilston way—and the price of coals—and trade being bad ever since the Government— Eh, my lad, just think of your old auntie, seeing all her life work undone, and having to sell the property she’s so proud over.”
Here Guy started slightly, as the old man’s voice choked.
“But we’re not going to fail,” he said. “We’re going to fight it out and pull through; that is, if you back me up.”
John Cooper stared at him incredulously. Besides his natural surprise that this “laddie” was old enough to have a say in the matter, and besides his not unjustifiable suspicions of him, Guy’s delicate outlines and look of ill-health—in fact, his whole air—was so unlike that of the powerful old woman who had so long held the reins, that the identical form of the lines into which his lips set, was unperceived, and the sudden, keen glance that came through the silky black lashes, from the usually absent eyes, was startling.
“You know well enough, sir,” said Cooper shakily, “that there’s nought I wouldn’t do for the old lady and the business. She’s been a grand character all her days, and if there’s a curse on the Waynfletes, she set her teeth against it when she was but a slip of a lass, with rosy cheeks and eyes that could look the sun down.”
“Ay?” said Guy. “What d’ye mean by a curse on the Waynfletes?”
“Well, sir, of course it’s only a manner of speech; but there were plenty to say that Margaret Waynflete’d bring Palmers her own ill luck. Now, I say, Margaret never brought ill luck to any man; and Mr Thomas had the best of good fortune when he took her with her shawl over her head and without a penny. Bad luck’ll never overtake her now in her old age.”