the catechism on Sundays. She'll never know aught else, if I can help it. That's why I keep her where she is."
When he said that he intended to make "Haworth's" second to no place in England, he had not spoken idly. His pride in the place was a passion. He spent money lavishly but shrewdly; he paid his men well, but ruled them with an iron hand. Those of his fellow-manufacturers who were less bold and also less keen-sighted, regarded him with no small disfavor.
"He'll have trouble yet, that Haworth fellow," they said.
But "Haworth's" flourished and grew. The original works were added to, and new hands, being called for, flocked into Broxton with their families. It was Jem Haworth who built the rows of cottages to hold them, and he built them well and substantially, but as a sharp business investment and a matter of pride rather than from any weakness of regarding them from a moral stand-point.
"I'll have no poor jobs done on my place," he announced. "I'll leave that to the gentlemen manufacturers."
It was while in the midst of this work that he received a letter from Gerard Ffrench, who was still abroad.
Going into his room one day Murdoch found him reading it and looking excited.
"Here's a chap as would be the chap for me," he said, "if brass were iron—that chap Ffrench."
"What does he want?" Murdoch asked.
"Naught much," grimly. "He's got a notion of coming back here, and he'd like to go into partnership with me. That's what he's drivin' at. He'd like to be a partner with Jem Haworth."
"What has he to offer?"
"Cheek, and plenty on it. He says his name's well
