These words of fire set Henry pondering deeply; and, as he pondered, Bayne stuck to the port, and so effectually, that, at last, after an interval of silence, he came out in a new character.  He disturbed his companion’s reverie by informing him, in a loud, aggressive tone, that it had long been his secret wish to encounter the Hillsborough Trades, in the persons of their secretaries, under the following conditions:  a twenty-four feet ring, an experienced referee, and a kingdom looking on.  As to the order of the pugilistic events, he was not unreasonably fastidious; must stipulate to begin with old Smitem; but, after that, they might encounter their fate in any order they chose, one down t’other come on.  He let him know that this ardent desire for single combats, in an interminable series, arose from their treatment of his friend—­“the best friend—­the best heart—­oh!—­the best company—­oh! oh!—­the best—­oh! oh! oh!” Whereupon he wept, the bellicose Bayne.  And, after weeping the usual quantity, he twaddled, and, after twaddling, he became as pacific as ever, for he went to sleep in his chair.

And, while he snoozed, the words he had uttered set his friend’s brain boiling and bubbling.

When the time came at which Bayne ought to return to the works, Henry called the landlady, and said, “Mr. Bayne is not very well.  I am going to make his excuses.  I wouldn’t disturb him till five, if I was you, and then I’d give him a strong cup of tea.”

Henry then went direct to the office, and found Mr. Cheetham there.

“Well?” said Mr. Cheetham, rather surlily.

“I am come to ask for my month, sir.”

“So I guessed.  Do you really mean to exact that?”

“Why not, sir?”

“Haven’t you heard how they ground me down?”

“Yes, sir.  But why did you give in?  I was true to you, but you failed me.  I’d have shut up the works for three months, rather than be made a slave of, and go from my word.”

“Ay, ay; that’s bachelor’s talk.  I’ve got a wife and children, and they make a man a mouse.”

“Well, sir, I forgive you:  but as to my month’s wages—­now all I say is—­put yourself in my place!”

“Well?”

“You are me.  You are brought from London, under an agreement, a month’s notice on either side.  You work, and give satisfaction.  You are threatened, but you don’t run from your employer.  You are blown up, and nearly killed.  You lose a fortnight, but you don’t charge for it; ’twasn’t your employer’s fault.  You come back to him, and face the music again.  You work with the sword hanging over you.  But your employer gives in, and sacks you in a minute.  Oughtn’t you to have your month?  Come now, man to man, oughtn’t you?”

“I ought, and that’s the truth.  I didn’t look at it that way.  I saw my own side.  There—­no more about it—­I’ll draw the check—­with a good heart.”

He drew his check-book to him, with a face as if vultures were tearing his vitals.