CHAPTER XII

PROFIT AND LOSS

    The trifles of our daily life,
      The common things scarce worth recall,
    Whereof no visible trace remains,
      These are the main springs after all.

    O why to those who need them not,
      Should Love’s best gifts be given! 
    How much is wasted, wrecked, forgot,
      On this side of heaven?

The thing that John feared, had happened to him, no miracle had prevented it, and that day he must shut the great gates of Hatton factory.  He could hardly realize the fact.  He kept wondering if his father knew it, but if so, he told himself he would doubtless know the why and the wherefore and the end of it.  He would know, also, that his son John had done all a man could do to prevent it.  This was now a great consolation and he had also a confident persuasion that the enforced lock-out would only last for a short time.

“Things have got to their worst, Greenwood,” he said, “and when the tide is quite out, it turns instantly for the onward flow.”

“To be sure it does, sir,” was the answer.  “Your honored father, sir, used to say, ’If changes don’t come, make them come.  Things aren’t getting on without them.’”

“How long can we run, Greenwood?”

“Happen about four hours, sir.”

“When the looms give up, send men and women to the lunchroom.”

“All right, sir.”

Was it all right?  If so, had he not been fighting a useless battle and got worsted?  But he could not talk with his soul that morning.  He could not even think.  He sat passive and was dumb because it was evidently God’s doing.  Perhaps he had been too proud of his long struggle, and it was good spiritual correction for him to go down into the valley of humiliation.  Short ejaculatory prayers fell almost unconsciously from his lips, mainly for the poor men and women he must lock out to poverty and suffering.

Finally his being became all hearing.  Life appeared to stand still a moment as loom after loom stopped.  A sudden total silence followed.  It was broken by a long piercing wail as if some woman had been hurt, and in a few minutes Greenwood looked into his office and said, “They be all waiting for you, sir.”  The man spoke calmly, even cheerfully, and John roused himself and with an assumed air of hopefulness went to speak to his workers.

They were standing together and on every face there was a quiet steadfastness that was very impressive.  John went close to them so that he seemed to mingle with them.  “Men and women,” he said, “I have done my best.”

“Thou hes, and we all know it.”

It was Timothy Briggs, the manager of the engine room, who spoke, a man of many years and many experiences.  “Thou hes done all a man could do,” he added, “and we are more than a bit proud of thee.”

“I do not think we shall be long idle,” continued John, “and when we open the gates again, there will be spinning and weaving work that will keep the looms busy day and night.  And the looms will be in fine order to begin work at an hour’s notice.  When the first bell rings, I shall be at my desk; let me see how quickly you will all be at your looms again.”