“Garn ...” said ’Tilda. “Thet’s a Tride Union, thet is. A man’s gime. If I chuck my job, ’oo’s goin’ to keep me til I get a better one. Muvver? I don’t fink....”
“I will,” said the suffragette. “If there’s anybody here earning less than ten shillings a week, I’ll give them seven-and-six a week for a fortnight if they have to chuck their job, and I’ll also give a prize of seven-and-six at the end of the fortnight to the girl who’s increased her wages the most.”
No plan could ever have been less planned. She thought of it as she spoke of it, a most rash method. But Miss Wigsky immediately set to work to hew it into shape.
“You’ll ’ave to arringe for piece-work, miss,” she said. “Anybody on piece-work could increase their wiges by working for twenty-four hours a diy, but it wouldn’t be fair.”
“Nobody must work after eight at night,” said the suffragette.
“An’ if two or three gets the sime rise?” suggested Miss Wigsky.
“I’ll give them each seven-and-six,” said the suffragette.
Of the twenty girls present, three were earning over ten shillings and entered a different class of the competition, working for the prize without the maintenance, if a rise should be found possible without loss of employment. Of the remaining seventeen, two refused to compete, and one was too small to be worth more than her present earnings. The other fourteen determined on an immediate attack on their employers. Chances were discussed instead of dances for the rest of the evening.
“My boss’ll siy—the money’s there—you kin tike it or leave it. ’E’s said that before.”
“My boss’ll smile—’e allus calls me ’Tip-a-wink, becos I’m the smallest gel there. ’E’s never cross—my boss ain’t.”