Floxham and Murdoch talking also. The old engineer wore an irritable air, and was plainly in a testy mood. Murdoch looked fagged and pale. Of late he was often so. As Haworth entered he turned toward him, uttering an exclamation.
"He is here now," he said. "That is well enough."
Floxham gave him a glance from under his bent, bushy brows.
"Aye," he answered. "We may as well out wi' it."
He touched his cap clumsily.
"Tell him," he said to Murdoch, "an' ha' it over."
Murdoch spoke in a cool, low voice.
"I have found out," he said, "that there is trouble on foot. I began to suspect it a week ago. Some rough fellows from Manchester and Molton have been holding secret meetings at a low place here. Some of the hands have been attending them. Last night a worse and larger gang came and remained in the town. They are here now. They mean mischief at least, and there are reports afloat that strikes are breaking out on all sides."
Haworth turned abruptly to Floxham.
"Where do you stand?" he asked roughly.
The old fellow laid his grimy hand upon his engine.
"I stand here, my lad," he answered. "That's wheer—an' I'll stick to it, unions or no unions."
"That's the worst side of the trouble," said Murdoch. "Those who would hold themselves aloof from the rest will be afraid of the trades unions. If worst comes to worst, their very lives will be in danger. They know that, and so do we."
"Aye, lad," said Floxham, "an' tha'rt reet theer."
Haworth ground his teeth and swore under his breath. Then he spoke to Murdoch.
