Strike ordered in Unionist lines. Men throw down the pick; hand in the shovel and the hoe; put on their coats; hang about corners of Lobby in approved strike fashion. If Hanbury and the Blameless Bartley could only be induced to stick short clay pipe in side of mouth (bowl downwards), fasten a leather strap outside their trousers just below the knee, and drink four-half out of pewters at bar in the Lobby, scene would be complete.
Strike only partial. Fully one half the men refuse to go out; stand by the masters, turning deaf ear to blandishments and threats of pickets outside. Strange thing is that, working at half strength, output more than doubled. Time-closure, with all hands at work, proposed to complete Committee by eleven o'clock next Tuesday night. At ten minutes past six this afternoon the whole thing through. Not hurried either. Thoroughly debated, divided on, and Bill, in more than one instance, amended.
"Fact is," said the Squire, beaming with chastened delight at turn events taken, "we are over-manned just as London is over-cabbed. Must see if something can't be done to reduce numbers by refusing licenses for fresh elections when vacancies occur."
Business done.—Evicted Tenants Bill through Committee. Building Societies Bill far advanced.
Friday.—Back in the mud again. Strike operative only when Evicted Tenants Bill under consideration. That standing over now for Report Stage. Meanwhile take up again Equalisation of Rates Bill. Men on strike stream in, tired of "playing." Wonderful their eagerness to get to work again, their keen delight in sound of their own voices, so strangely intermitted. Bartley, Kimber, Fisher, Jokim, and the Woolwich Infant all here again, with Webster (of St. Pancras) wobbling all over the place, like a hen that has laid an egg somewhere and can't for the life of her just at the minute think where she left it.
Business done.—Hardly any. As Bartley says, "must make up for lost time when yesterday and day before work advanced by leaps and bounds."
THE CARSON BANSHEE.
John Morley. "You see it's all right, my little man. I told you you needn't be frightened of him. It was only his vapour. We're through the Commons now! Come along, and I'll leave you at the door of the Lords'. See how you get on there!"