So Martin decided at first that we would go direct to London, but finally he concluded to go a little out of our way to visit the estate of the Duke of Devonshire—the grandest home in England. And he wanted to stop a little while at Sheffield on business—property matters, I spoze, or mebby he wanted to buy a jack-knife—I d’no what his business wuz.
I knew he could git a good jack-knife here, for they’ve been makin’ knives and sech right here for five or six hundred years.
CHAPTER XVI.
EDENSOR AND THE DUKE OF DEVONSHIRE.
So anon we found ourselves in the smoky, grimy, dirty city. A heavy black cloud seemed to hang overhead, seemin’ to shade the hull spot; but then I didn’t want to lay it up agin ’em, for I knew we had our own cities, that had to set down under a cloud of smoke jest as they did—Pittsburg, and others, etcetery.
I can’t say that I took sech a sight of comfort here in Sheffield, but Josiah and Martin seemed to enjoy themselves a-goin’ round and seein’ all they could.
Martin said it wuz a sight to see how perfectly each workman did his work, and how faithful they wuz to their employers; he said he wished he had sech men to work for him.
And it wuz curous to think on. As nigh as I could make out, generations of one family would work on and on, a-workin’ at one part of a jack-knife, for instance, a-keepin’ right on—a grandpa, and his son, and his son’s son, and etcetery—all contented and industrious and awful handy, as they would naterally be, a-workin’ on at one thing year after year, year after year; mebby a-makin’ a rivet to put into a handle of a knife.
It stands to reason that they would learn to do it well after workin’ at the same thing over and over for hundreds of years. And these workmen seemed to be sot on doin’ jest the best work that they could, and stay right on in the same place.
“And,” sez Josiah, “I wonder if Ury’s boy and grandson and great-grandson will be willin’ to keep right on workin’ for me?”