Tramp, tramp, came the heavy clogged feet up the stairs; and in a
minute five wild, earnest-looking men stood in the room. John
Barton, from some mistake as to time, was not among them. Had they
been larger-boned men, you would have called them gaunt; as it was,
they were little of stature, and their fustian clothes hung loosely
upon their shrunk limbs. In choosing their delegates, too, the
operatives had had more regard to their brains, and power of speech,
than to their wardrobes; they might have read the opinions of that
worthy Professor Teufelsdreck, in Sartor Resartus, to judge from the
dilapidated coats and trousers, which yet clothed men of parts and
of power. It was long since many of them had known the luxury of a
new article of dress; and air-gaps were to be seen in their
garments. Some of the masters were rather affronted at such a
ragged detachment coming between the wind and their nobility; but
what cared they.
At the request of a gentleman hastily chosen to officiate as
chairman, the leader of the delegates read, in a high-pitched,
psalm-singing voice, a paper, containing the operatives' statement
of the case at issue, their complaints, and their demands, which
last were not remarkable for moderation.
Pages:
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381