Foreman grinned. "Ay. I heard tell o' that."
"Well, if the worst comes to the worst, I suppose we can rely on you and Shepherd and Mike. What about those Irish men, foreman?"
"Well, them as is friends o' Mike's will do as 'e says. I don't like t' looks o' Mike these days, Mrs. Robson, I tell you straight. It isn't that 'e's drinking worse nor usual. He allus was a good 'un for that. It's way 'e acts when 'e is drunk."
"What sort of way?" asked Mary, frowning.
How tiresome of Mike to add to her troubles when she had so many things to think about!
"Oh, swearing an' taking on' an' offering to fight anyone what says a word agin you. And talking about that there Mr. Rossitur—saying he was at t' bottom of strike an' all, an' if he hadn't come there wouldn't have been no trouble."
"Well, that's true in a way, I suppose."
"Ay, mebbe. But's it's doing no good down i' t' village and it's doing no good to Mike. Waite's like a great mule since 'is row wi' Mike, and Mike's fair crazed over any o' t' union men. I wish ye'd speak to 'em, m'm. There'll be trouble in Anderby one of these days."
"Oh, there'll be trouble all right. But I don't see what I can do. I'll try and speak to Mike. Is there anything else?"
She returned to finish her tea with John. Poor John! She knew he suffered no less from the changed conditions because he was inarticulate. Sometimes she wondered whether it hurt more to move as he moved, half understanding, among the hostility of a once friendly wold, or to live as she lived, continually estimating and expressing the measure of her own emotions. Perhaps, with her, one pain dimmed the consciousness of another, while John clung steadily to the thought of coming trouble at Anderby.