More than one good workman, old friends and cronies of Ben’s, had already had long talks with him about the matter. They were men who had a bit laid by and were ready to join the enterprise.
“We will have no one with us,” said Tom emphatically, “but those who work in the mill. We will have no one’s money unless he gives his labour too. Every worker on the job must have his flesh and blood in it as well as his money. If we take money at all it must be as a loan at low interest. The thing is to have every hand a co-operator in production and a sharer in the profits.”
“Tak’ as few in as possible till yo’ see how th’ job frames,” was Hannah’s prudent counsel. “If it goes all reet yo’ll ha’ plenty o’ backers, an’ plenty as’ll want to ha’ a finger i’ th’ paw (pie). Aw nobbut hope it winnot be like the gradely ‘Holmfirth paw.’”
“What’s that?” asked Tom.
“Brokken eggs,” said Hannah, shortly, “cow-pie,—custard, for fine.”
Of course Jabez Tinker heard of the thing. A few days before the expiration of Tom’s apprenticeship he sent for him into the office. The indenture was spread on the desk before him.
“Sit down, Tom,” his master said in a not unkindly voice. “So I suppose you are going to shake the dust of Wilberlee Mill off your feet.”
“Something like it, sir, I suppose, if you’ve no objections.”
“Nay, it’s with my leave or without my leave now. Well, I’ve had no fault to find with you. Are your plans settled once for all?”
“I’ve put my hand to the plough, sir.”