“So I will then,” he promised, “and we’ll leave it at that. And if you’ll take your chance to talk sense to her, I’ll be a good bit obliged.”
The rain had ceased, and Lydia went out for a breath of air, while Ned lighted his pipe and accompanied her. A good few of the workers were at hand, and Mr. Knox, seeing Mrs. Trivett and her son-in-law, joined them. Kellock passed, but did not stop, and Philander Knox praised him.
“Now, there’s a chap that’ll go far—either here or somewhere else,” he said. “Most of you Devon people I’ve yet met with are pretty easy-going, like myself; but that man is not. He’s more than a paper maker. Dingle here, and Life, and old Pinhey, the finisher, and Trood are content to go on their way, and leave other people to do the same. Kellock is not.”
“He’s got ideas,” said Lydia.
“He has. I’ve took a room in the same house where he lodges, and I’ve heard him air his notions. They’re commonplace talk where I come from, but a bit ahead of the times in the West Country. We middle-aged folk ain’t interested in ’em, but the rising generation is. He told me straight out that we ought to have shop stewards in the Mill.”
“Not at all,” said Dingle. “We don’t want nothing of that here.”
“A burning mind for the rights of labour,” continued Knox, “and though you may think we don’t want shop stewards, and I may think so, and the boss may think so, shop stewards are a sign of the times, and they’ll come everywhere before long.”
“I hope not,” said Lydia.
“And shop stewardesses,” added Philander; “and if that happened, you’d have to rise to it, Mrs. Trivett, for the good of the young women.”
Lydia laughed.