“Ah! Mester Jacob,” he said, “when’s this here unhappy strike going to end?”
“When the rascals who stole our bands bring them back,” I said, “and return to their work.”
“Ah!” he sighed, “I’m afraid they wean’t do that, my lad. Hedn’t the mesters better give in, and not make no more noofangle stoof?”
“Oh, that’s what you think, is it, Gentles?” I said.
“Who? Me, mester? Oh, no: I’m only a pore hardworking chap who wants to get back to his horse. It’s what the other men say. For my part I wishes as there was no unions, stopping a man’s work and upsetting him; that I do. Think the mesters’ll give in, Mester Jacob, sir?”
“I’m sure they will not, Gentles,” I said, “and you had better tell the men so.”
“Nay, I durstn’t tell ’em. Oh, dear, no, Mester Jacob, sir. I’m a quiet peaceable man, I am. I on’y wants to be let alone.”
I went on, thinking, and had nearly reached the lane by the works, when I met Pannell, who was smoking a short black pipe.
“Hello!” he cried.
“Hello! Pannell,” I said.