But the woman gave thanks unto God, weeping tears of joy.
CHAPTER VI
[THE BLACKLEG]
The foreman shrugged his shoulders. He avoided looking at the applicant, an undersized man, with straggling black beard and dull eyes. Even now, while pressing his appeal, he wore an air of being but slightly interested.
'You know, Jones, what the conditions of employ were--keep on the works.'
'But my little girl's ill!'
'Sorry to hear it; but you don't want to have any trouble. You heard how they treated your wife when she came in; they'd be much worse to you if I was to let you out. They're pretty near beat, and they know it, and they don't like it, and before they quite knock under they'd like to make a mark of someone. If it was you, they might make a mark too many; they're not overfond of you just now, as you know very well. And then where will you be, eh? How would your little girl be any better for their laying you out?'
Jones turned to his wife, a sort of feminine replica of himself. She had her shawl drawn over her head.
'You hear, Jane, what Mr. Mason says?'
Mrs. Jones sighed; even in her sigh there was a curious reproduction of her husband's lack of interest.