The end of Tom’s apprenticeship drew near. Stories of his project had already been whispered about the village, and some of the quidnuncs of the barber’s shop, which was the central Exchange of local news tapped their foreheads significantly. “Talk abaat a slate off,” the slubber at Wilberlee had been heard to say, “yon’ Ben Garside’s got a whole roof off, and that d—d young bastard fro’ Saddleworth’s worse nor Ben.” But in time the real nature of the new enterprise was bruited abroad and was much discussed. The novel theme was felt to be a perfect godsend in a community which, like others of its size, becomes more agitated over a runaway horse in its main street than over a European convulsion. The landlord of the Croppers’ Arms began to feel quite a glow of gratitude towards the sober, drink-shunning Pinder, so many pints of ale did his nightly customers feel necessary for the ample criticism of Tom’s scheme.
“Aw know for certain room an’ power’s ta’en at Hinchliff Mill,” said Jim Thewlis, the landlord. “Th’ agent for lettin’ Denham’s mill, as was, called in on his way fro’ Huddersfilt’ other day. We wer’ speerin’ abaat this young Pinder. Weel, aw wanted to do fair like so aw said at th’ country talk wor’ he’d had a fortin’ left; th’ worst there wer’ agen him, so far as ivver aw’d heer’d, wer’ ’at he wer’ a teetotaller. Aw thowt that wer’ enuff, but th’ agent seemed no ways taken a-back. Said it were common as measles nah a days,” concluded Jim, heaving a sigh over the degeneracy of the times.
“But what’s all this talk abaat a newfangled road o’ payin’ th’ hands?” asked the village bellman, whose pimply face and swollen nose seemed to indicate that “Oyez! Oyez!” were thirsty words.
“They’re all to have a ‘divvy,’ same as they han at th’ Co-op,” explained one.
“There’ll be a new job for thi, Bellman,” said another.
“Tha’ll ha to go round th’ village cryin’ th’ divvy at Co-op Mill”
“Aye, aye,” said another, “Oh! yes, Oh! yes, lost, lost and can’t be found, a han’some divvy thowt safe an’ sound.’” Thus Josh o’ Jonah’s, the village wit and poet.
But the light esteem in which their design was held by the topers of the Croppers’ Arms did not disturb the equanimity of either Ben or Tom. “Th’ more th’ job’s talked abaat, th’ better for it,” was Ben’s expressed opinion. “An’ if it’s nobbut fooil’s talk, talk’s talk, an’ that’s why we want to start a Co-op. When folk get to know th’ lines we’re bahn to work on, there’ll be plenty ready to throw in wi’ us, yo’ see if ther’ isna, Tom lad. We’ll ha’ th’ pick o’th mill hands i’ this village if th’ consarn goes—an’ it mun go, Tom; it mun go. Aw’st break mi heart if it doesn’t. We’ll mak it gee if we’n to sell ivvery stick we’n got to buy coil to fire up wi’. But we’st nooan need to do that. Aw’ve nooan bin idle, an’ what does ta think aw’ve getten to tell thee?”
Ben had not indeed been idle. It has been said that he was a popular character in the district. Men knew him for a shrewd, hard-working man, “wi’ his yead screwed on th’ reight road, if he is a bit loose i’ th’ tongue.” Of more moment still their wives knew him for a sober man, and the daughters of a good many of them evinced a very sympathetic interest in the scheme in which Tom’s name was so prominently associated. Moreover, Co-ops were appreciated by the housewives. Co-operative distribution they understood; Co-operative production they had not before heard of but were quite prepared to take it on trust, as a sort of twin-brother of the system of trading they were already familiar with.
“Aw know one thing,” many a good dame declared, “it wer’ a gooid thing for yar haase ’at aw put into th’ Co-op. Aw allus know th’ rent ’ll be theer at th’ quarter end, an’ there’ll be summat to buy cloes wi’ at Whissunday, an’ a bit o’ summat extra at Kersmas, an’ it’s all mi eye an’ Peggy Martin abaat th’ stuff bein’ dear an’ nasty. That’s Eph. Thorpe’s tale, that is. Ther’s nob’dy nah’ll go to Eph’s bud them as cannot pay ready brass for their stuff.”