"What's that?" faltered Briarley. "I ha' na heerd on it."
Haworth laughed and picked up his whip and reins.
"Ask him," he answered. "He can tell you better than I can. He's at work on a thing that'll set the masters a good bit freer than they are now. That's all I know. There won't be any need o' so many o' you lads. You'll have to make your brass out of a new trade."
He bent a little to settle a strap.
"Go and tell the rest on 'em," he said. "You'll do it when you're drunk enow, I dare say."
Briarley fumbled with his coins. His air became speculative.
"What are you thinkin' on?" demanded Haworth. "It's a bad lookout, isn't it?"
Mr. Briarley drew a step nearer the gig's side. He appeared somewhat pale, and spoke in a whisper. Muddled as he was, he had an idea or so left.
"It'll be a bad lookout for him," he said. "Bless yo'! They'd tear him to pieces. They're in th' humor for it. They've been carryin' a grudge so long they're ready fur owt. They've nivver thowt mich o' him, though, but start 'em on that an' they wouldn't leave a shred o' it together—nor a shred o' him, eyther, if they got the chance."
Haworth laughed again.