"There ain't no help for standing it," interposed a quiet-looking man named Wheeler. "I suppose the masters is forced to lower. They say so."
"Have your master forced hisself to it?" angrily retorted Fisher.
"Well, Fisher, you know I'm fortunate. As all is that gets in to work at Ashley's."
"And precious good care they take to stop in!" cried Fisher, much aggravated. "No danger that Ashley's hands'll give way and afford outsiders a chance."
"Why should they give way?" sensibly asked Wheeler. "You need never think to get in at Ashley's, Fisher, so there's no cause for you to grumble."
A titter went round at Fisher's expense. He did not like it. "I might stand my chance with others, if there was room. Who says I couldn't? Come, now!"
A man laughed. "You had better ask Samuel Lynn that question, Fisher. Why, he wouldn't look at you! You are not steady enough for him."
"Samuel Lynn may go along for a ill-natured broadbrim!" was Fisher's retort. "There'd not be half the difficulty in getting in with Mr. Ashley hisself."
"Yes, there would," said Wheeler, quietly. "Mr. Ashley pays first wages, and he'll have first hands. Quaker Lynn knows what he's about."
"Don't dispute about nothing, Fisher," interrupted a voice, borne through the clouds of smoke from the far end of the room. "To lose a shilling a week is bad, but not so bad as losing all. I have heard ill news this evening."