Lee turned and gave her one stare, and left his machine.
“Not another stitch of work will I do under this new wage-list, so help me, God!” he proclaimed.
Tom Peel stood for a second like an automaton, staring at them both. Then he turned back to his post.
“I'm with ye,” he said.
The lasters, for some occult reason, were always the most turbulent element in Lloyd's. In less than three minutes the enthusiasm of revolt had spread, and every laster had left his machine. In a half-hour more there was an exodus of workmen from Lloyd's. There were very few left in the factory. Among them were John Sargent, the laster who was a deacon and had formed one of the consulting committee, Sadie Peel, who wanted her nearseal cape, and Mamie Brady, who would do nothing which she thought would displease the foreman, Flynn.
“If father's mind to be such a fool, it's no reason why I should,” said Sadie Peel, stitching determinedly away. Mamie Brady looked at Flynn, when he came up to her, with a gentle, wheedling smile. There was no one near, and she fancied that he might steal a kiss. But instead he looked at her, frowning.
“No use you tying away any longer, Mamie,” he said. “The strike's on.”
Chapter LIII
That was one of the strangest days which Ellen had ever passed. The enforced idleness gave her an indefinite sense of guilt. She tried to assist her mother about the household tasks, then she tried to sew on the wrappers, but she was awkward about it, from long disuse.
“Do take your book and sit down and read and rest a little, now you've got a chance,” said Fanny, with sharp solicitude.