“I’d like to have a word with you,” said Marsten, keeping step with him.
“It’s no use. I know there’s a strike. I’m here to work, and I don’t give a hang for the Union!”
“Well, it will do no harm to talk the matter over.”
“It’ll do no good. I didn’t come out to talk; I came out for my dinner.”
“Of course. I’m on the same lay myself; come with me. We can talk and eat.”
“I can pay for my own dinner.”
“Certainly; I’m not offering to pay for it. I don’t suppose I get a tenth part of the wages you do; I can see by the look of you that you are a good workman. I’m secretary of the Union, and I get but a few shillings a week. I would tell you how few, but you probably wouldn’t believe me, for I could get much more at my trade.”
“The more fool you, then, for working for less.”
“Perhaps. I want to raise the wages of men all over the kingdom, so I’m content to work for little if I can do that. Where do you come from?”
“I’m a Bolton man.”