“I’m glad Girtley’s coming, Grace,” he said; “he’s a big, strong fellow, and we may want him.”
“Why?” I said excitedly.
“I don’t know for certain, my boy, but I’m afraid there’s mischief brewing. I can’t swear to it, but I believe that devil, John Lister, has been stirring up the scoundreldom of the trade, with stuff about the machine taking the bread out of their mouths, and if the trial passes off without a hitch, I shall be surprised.”
“Mr Ruddle hinted something of the kind, last night,” I said.
“Yes, but don’t let Hallett know, poor fellow! He’s weak and ill enough already. He might break down. Ruddle had men watching the place all last night, so as to guard against any malicious attempts.”
“But do you think they would dare to injure the machine?” I exclaimed.
“Fools will do anything if they are set to do it,” said the old man, sententiously.
“If Lister is at the bottom of any such attempts he deserves to be shot,” I cried indignantly.
“And his carcase given to the crows,” said the old man. “But I say, Antony Grace, my boy, is Miss Carr likely to come to see the trial?”
“No,” I replied; “she asked me to let her know the time, but she said she could not come.”