JOHN. There's something in the doctrine which that fighting-cock of yours was preaching here last night. We manufacturers must cling together, Barlow, only he wanted us to cling to his policy and, by your leave, we'll cling to mine. It lets you satisfy your customers and keep your weavers living, and it gives me the chance of rapping Mr. Guy Barlow on the knuckles.
EPHRAIM (timidly). Do you think he'll let—?
JOHN. Why, man alive, I hope that you are master here.
EPHRAIM. I shall take no pleasure in it now.
(Enter Guy.)
That old factory was like another son to me.
GUY (in high spirits). And a damned rickety child it was.
EPHRAIM. Guy!
GUY (good-humouredly). You will get a new son, father A lusty son with new machinery in the guts of him.
EPHRAIM. It will not be my old factory.