“I’m not denying it,” came the answer in a Lancashire accent, “I’m not saying that cheap bread won’t suit us. But it isn’t for that——”
“No, no, of course not,” the former speaker replied with heavy irony—Basset thought that the voice belonged to Hayward of the Leasows, a pompous old farmer, dubbed behind his back “The Duke.” “You don’t want low wages i’ your mills, of course!”
“Cheap bread doesn’t make low wages,” the other rejoined. “That’s where you mistake, sir. Let me put it to you. You’ve known wheat high?”
“It was seventy-seven shillings seven years back,” the farmer pronounced. “And I ha’ known it a hundred shillings a quarter for three years together.”
“And I suppose the wages at that time were the highest you’ve ever known?”
“Well, no,” the farmer admitted, “I’m not saying that.”
“And seven years ago when wheat was seventy-seven—it is fifty-six now—were wages higher then than now?”
“Well,” the Duke answered reluctantly, “I don’t know as they were, mister, not to take notice of.”
“Think it out for yourself, sir,” the other replied. “I don’t think you’ll find that wages are highest when wheat is highest, nor lowest when wheat is lowest.”
The farmer, more weighty than ready, snorted. But another speaker took up the cudgels. “Ay, but one minute,” he said. “It’s the price of wheat fixes the lowest wages. If it’s two pound of bread will keep a man fit to work—just keep him so and no more—it’s the price of bread fixes whether the lowest wages is eightpence a day or a shilling a day.”