Chaplin did not seem inclined to talk to-night, and so he took no notice of what was said, but sat with his head in his hand and his elbow on the table, evidently pondering deeply over some matter that engaged his attention.
"I don't know that the chaps are quite fair to Rutter," he said after a long silence, during which Mrs. Chaplin had been putting the tea things away.
"What do you mean?" asked his wife, looking round from the cupboard in her surprise.
"Well, about the way he makes his money. The fellows grumble and carry on, and threaten this and that, but what wants altering is the method on which we are paid. Labourers and foremen alike."
Mrs. Chaplin frowned. "I wish you'd leave all that sort of thing alone," she said.
Poor woman! She had such a horror of strikes, and for underpaid labourers to think of doing anything beyond a little occasional grumbling filled her with dismay.
But Winny always had a word ready for any little family hitch of the kind. "Don't you think we might leave the matter in God's hands, mother?" she said.
"Yes, yes, my dear, that is what I want your father to do," said Mrs. Chaplin a little impatiently.
"But, you see, mother," began Chaplin.
And then there came a tap at the door, and Annie Brown put her head in again. "Father's foot seems worse to-night," she said in an anxious tone. "I wish you would come and look at it, Mrs. Chaplin."