Mr Howroyd laughed as he said, 'Not yet. You'll have all that and more when I'm dead and gone.'
'And I hope that will be never!' cried Sarah impetuously.
'Then you'd better take this money now. I've neither chick nor child, so it's yours,' he said with his cheery smile.
'George, I think you'd better. Taking it from Uncle Howroyd is not taking charity,' said Sarah.
'I should think not,' put in her uncle.
George let himself be persuaded, in spite of his firm conviction that feeling was so strong against Clay's Mills and their owners, and that they were practically being boycotted by the buyers.
And he was right. The weeks dragged on, and since the big contract, which had been finished and sent off to time, thanks to the goodwill of the hands, no order of any importance had come in, and George heard of them being placed elsewhere in the town.
'It's no good, Sarah,' he said one day. 'I knew we were done for when I read that article in the paper about ill-gotten gains, and there have been others since.'
'Is Uncle Howroyd's money gone?' inquired Sarah.
'Practically, and the warehouses are full. I mind more for father and the hands; they've come back to us, and everything is going well in the mills, and Hurst is a good business man; but it's no use making good cloth if people won't buy it.'