"It will want a first-rate man to stand in his shoes," was the general verdict; "for Mr. John knows when a man understands his work. And likely, for when he came here, a lad, he went through his degrees, and learned the whole business up and down."
"A good thing for the men when the master does know what work means," said a steady old hand, who, like Adam, was not given to much talking.
"I don't say that," interposed another, whose face showed signs of intemperance, and in whose unsteady hand the tool shook again, as he paused in its use.
"I should have said it is good for the men whose minds are made up to do an honest day's work for a fair day's wages," returned the older man, with a half-pitying, half-contemptuous look at the trembling hand of the last speaker. "It isn't good in the eyes of those who try how little they can do for their money. I have always respected Mr. John for being a first-rate workman, as well as a fair dealing master, and I only hope the new manager may turn out to be after the same pattern. You've seen him, Jim. What is he like?"
"A clever-looking man. Got both eyes open, and won't be easy to gammon, I should say. Depend on it, he knows how many sixpences go to half a crown, and how much work should go into nine hours and a half. He came up to me, as the foreman brought him through, and he asked me a question. I thought I'd have him on a bit, and find out what he knew, but I'd better have let it alone. He made me look foolish, I can tell you, and I only hope he'll not remember my face when he starts here for good."
The speaker, Jim, was reckoned "a sharp un," a sort of workshop oracle, and his account of the coming manager was eagerly listened to. After Jim's experience, the conclusion come to was that Mr. Drummond would not be easily "done."
"They say he goes about preaching o' nights," remarked another. "Queer that, isn't it?"
"So long as he doesn't try on his preaching with me, he may do it where he likes," said Jim. "I should stand none o' that. I didn't agree for it, and it never did agree with me;" and Jim made a comical, wry face, as if he had just been trying to swallow something which would not go down.
"I only wish any preaching would do thee good, Jim," said the old workman, with a kindly look. "You've a deal in you that I like, for, if you've got a thing to do, you go at it with a will. But I can never stand your way of making fun of preachers that try to help their neighbours into the road that leads to heaven. If you won't go along with them, there's no need to make game and hinder other folks by laughing them out of it. You can see for yourself that if people go from comfortable firesides, where they have their wives and children, and could have more pleasant company besides—if they leave these, I say, where all is bright and tempting and cheerful, and go out into the dark lanes and miserable dirty homes, it must be out of love for Christ, and love for the souls He died to save. When a man gives time and strength, kind words and loving labours to those who are poorer than he is, and nought akin, and is certain that if he does it all his life he'll never be a penny the richer, you can't say that it's for his own sake."
Most of this talk took place during the dinner-hour, and as the speaker finished there were murmurs of assent from the men who were seated round. The old workman was much respected at Rutherford's.