It was some weeks after the events related in the last chapter, and George was looking years older, so his mother told him.
'Nay, lad, you must let me help you,' said Mr Howroyd. 'I've a few thousands lying idle, and you'll want them to keep the mills going for the next few weeks.'
'Do you mean to say it costs a thousand a week to keep the mills going?' cried Sarah.
'It does that, lass, and I hear you've no orders coming in,' replied her uncle.
'Then what's the good of their doing work if no one will buy it?' said Sarah, whose enthusiasm had died out, and who was now as pessimistic as her brother.
'Have it done ready for buyers. We often have to fill our warehouses in bad times till we can find a market for our goods; and as George won't go and ask for orders'——began his uncle.
'I really could not, Uncle Howroyd. I should feel like a beggar,' protested George.
'Then you must sit here and wait till buyers come; it's only a case of holding out long enough. Hurst is a good man, and a first-rate manager. I don't know why the buyers have left you. I'm afraid it's some mischief that's been made over the trial of the young men for firing the house, and their heavy sentence. It has not done Clay's Mills any good.'
'I know that, uncle, and that's why I don't want to take your money. It's only throwing good money after bad,' said George.
'Haven't I got any money?' inquired Sarah.