The next moment he fell back in some trepidation. Haworth looked down at him coolly.
"You're a pretty chap," he said, "goin' on th' strike an' leaving your wife and children to starve at home while you lay in your beer and make an ass of yourself."
"Eh!" exclaimed Mr. Briarley.
"And make an ass of yourself," repeated Haworth, unmovedly. "You'd better be drawin' your wages, my lad."
Mr. Briarley's expression changed. From bewilderment he passed into comparative gloom.
"It is na drawin' 'em I've getten owt agen," he remarked. "It is na drawin' 'em. It's earnin' 'em,—an' ha'in' 'em took away an'—an' spent i' luxuries—berryin'-clubs an' th' loike. Brass as ud buy th' nessycerries."
"If we'd left you alone," said Haworth, "where would your wife and children be now, you scoundrel? Who's fed 'em and clothed 'em while you've been on th' spree? Jem Haworth, blast you!—Jem Haworth."
He put his hand in his pocket, and, drawing forth a few jingling silver coins, tossed them to him.
"Take these," he said, "an' go an' spend 'em on th' 'nessycerries,' as you call 'em. You'll do it, I know well enow. You'll be in a worse box than you are now, before long. We'll have done with you chaps when Murdoch's finished the job he's got on hand."