“So do I,” said Goddard. “You’re the very man I was longing for. Perhaps it’s about the same matter.”
“Perhaps,” said Gleam, with a twinkle of amusement. “You broach it.”
“The rumour about Ecclesby.”
“What rumour?” asked Gleam, becoming grave.
“The strike. There is a big storm brewing for the near future, I’m afraid. Haven’t you heard?”
“Not a suggestion,” returned Gleam.
“I had a report from Willaston—he is the League secretary there—forecasting probable events. Nothing is definite. I thought perhaps you might have heard.”
Gleam shook his head.
“What is wrong? New machinery, and Trades Union and Employers’ Federation at loggerheads about it?”
“No. Not machinery. Worse than that. Sweating, out-work. Simple tyranny. Here is the letter.”