"That was right, Violet. Remember that Mr. Robson's not to be worried about these sort of things. I'm the farmer these days till the doctor says he's all right again."
Violet sighed. There would be many confessions of falsehood to be muttered that night into her pillow before she went to bed. Life was very hard in Anderby—to say nothing about Fred Stephens who must be persuaded not to strike even if she had to throw over Percy to do it.
Mary hurried along the passage. She, too, found life rather difficult in Anderby just then—difficult, but exciting, and because exciting, then tolerable. The strike really was coming. Neither native caution nor the foreman's contempt nor the force of habit had availed against the rhetoric of Hunting. Anderby intellect had yielded to his eloquence as it would never have yielded to argument. The Flying Fox became the head-quarters of an active organization for industrial enlightenment. Coast as an unofficial friend of progress at last found himself a person of importance in an appreciative world. Waite was enabled to turn his ill-fortune to good account. The labourers from various farms awoke to the fact that they were victims of an unbearable tyranny—when they had time to think about it. Mrs. Robson was going to have her hoped-for fight with something real.
It was all very satisfactory.
"Well, foreman, what is it now?" asked Mary.
He removed his cap and scratched his head.
"It's a bad job this, missus."
"It's a bad job for us, but it's worse for the men. Have they any strike pay put by, foreman? They can't have. It hasn't gone on long enough."
"Why m'm, it's like this, you see. Mr. Rossitur comes down and says 'You're all beasts. You've got to be men,' an' rates 'em worse nor Parson on Advent Sunday. And he makes 'em all uncomfortable like a pup wi' a kettle tied t' his tail. Then comes Mr. Hunting an' gets up t' union. An' when they've got a union they mun hev a strike. For what's t' use o' unions unless you strike, they say? And what's t' use of striking unless you do it when it makes most row? And when's that? Harvest time o' course. So they'll strike."
"I know," said Mary. "That's just it. You put it very well. Why, we're all speakers now in Anderby! I've never heard so much talk in all my life as there's been in the last three weeks. I talk too. You should have heard me on at poor Bert Armstrong! He hardly knew whether he was on his head or his heels by the time I'd done with him."