"I am sorry that we have to part, my men," he said at last in a
crackling voice. "It's a bad day for all of us, and for Brisport
too. For three years we have been losing money over the works. We
held on in the hope of a change coming, but matters are going from
bad to worse. There's nothing for it but to give it up before the
balance of our fortune is swallowed up. I hope you may all be able
to get work of some sort before very long. Good-bye, and God bless
you!"
"God bless you, sir! God bless you!" cried a chorus of rough
voices. "Three cheers for Mr. Charles Fairbairn!" shouted a
bright-eyed, smart young fellow, springing up upon a bench and
waving his peaked cap in the air. The crowd responded to the call,
but their huzzas wanted the true ring which only a joyous heart can
give. Then they began to flock out into the sunlight, looking back
as they went at the long deal tables and the cork-strewn floor--
above all at the sad-faced, solitary man, whose cheeks were flecked
with colour at the rough cordiality of their farewell.
"Huxford," said the cashier, touching on the shoulder the young
fellow who had led the cheering; "the governor wants to speak to
you."
The workman turned back and stood swinging his cap awkwardly in
front of his ex-employer, while the crowd pushed on until the
doorway was clear, and the heavy fog-wreaths rolled unchecked into
the deserted tactory.
"Ah, John!" said Mr.
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