“What, Ben, lad!” he said to me heartily and shaking my hand most warmly—“A right good Christmas to you, and my compliments to my good friends at Holme.” A pleasant man was Mr. Horsfall when he liked, but one you must not lightly sour or cross. He had an iron hand, folk said, but he kept it gloved.
“And who’s your friend, Ben?”
I made George known to him, and Mr. Horsfall could tell him of knowing his mother, my aunt, when she was a blithe young girl courting with my uncle Mellor that was dead. But what surprised me was that George, generally so cheery and ready to meet civility more than half–way, seemed to freeze up and would scarce give his hand in greeting to Mr. Horsfall.
“It’ll be cold on the top, Ben,” said Mr. Horsfall. “Come along to Ottiwells and taste our spiced ale. My wife will be glad to have a crack with yau, and it’ll be cozier by th’ fireside nor ovver th’ top I’ll warrant you.”
My own good will went with this invitation, for I got enough and to spare of Stanedge in my business rounds; but George hung back strangely, and Mr. Horsfall, not used to have his advances coldly met, ceased to press us, and with awkward apologies on my part, and a curt nod from George, we went our several ways.
“I wonder you can speak civil to a man like yond,” said George, when we had our faces straight set to climb the hill.
“Name o’ wonder, why, George?” I asked, thinking nothing but that some private quarrel must have sprung up, of which I knew nothing, but ready enough to side with George, for in my young days families stood by each other, right or wrong.
“Don’t you know that Horsfall is foremost of all in pressing on the use of the new machines? Don’t you know that he has put them into Ottiwells? Don’t you know he is sacking the old hands and will have none but young ’uns that will and can learn, for it isn’t all that will that can, how to work the new frames? Don’t you know that there’s many a family in Marsden now, this very merry Christmas that we’re wishing each other like prating parrots, that has scarce a fire in the grate or a scrap of meat on the table, or warm clothing to the back, just because of Horsfall and such as he? Don’t you know that in Huddersfleld Market Horsfall has sworn hanging isn’t good enough for the Nottingham lads? If you don’t know, you live with your eyes shut, Ben, and your ears waxed, for aw’ll never believe ’at your heart’s shut, lad. And then you ask me why I couldn’t take him hearty by the hand.”
“But what does it matter to thee, George?” I asked, wondering at his warmth and hardly keeping pace with him as he strode on in his excitement.
“It matters nowt to me in a sense, Ben, and yet it matters all to me. I suppose th’ upshot would be that John Wood might as well shut up shop, and little I’d care for that. John Wood’s cake’s baked, and if it warn’t, there’s enough for my mother ’bout his brass. But it’s not o’ Wood nor myself I’m thinking, Ben, and I don’t take it too kindly you should look at it that way. I tell you, Ben, there’s hundreds o’ men and women and wee helpless bairns that’s just clemming to death. Yo, don’t see as much of it up i’ Slowit nor on th’ hill sides, though it’s war there nor yo happen think. And now th’ mesters are for doing th’ work o’ men an’ women too wi’ cunning contrivances that will make arms and legs o’ no use, and water and steam in time will do the work that Natur’ intended to be done by good honest muscle.”