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Updated: May 28, 2025
When at last the clangings had ceased she would lie listening to the overtones throbbing in the air, high and low, high and low; lie shrinking, awaiting the second summons that never failed to terrify, the siren of the Chippering Mill, to her the cry of an insistent, hungry monster demanding its daily food, the symbol of a stern, ugly, and unrelenting necessity.
"When old Stephen Chippering put me in charge he was losing money, he'd had three agents in four years. The old man knew I had it in me, and I knew it, if I do say it myself. All this union labour talk about shorter hours makes me sick why, there was a time when I worked ten and twelve hours a day, and I'm man enough to do it yet, if I have to.
He had not, of course, existed for more than forty years without having heard and read of and even encountered in an acquaintance or two the species of sex attraction sentimentally called love that sometimes made fools of men and played havoc with more important affairs, but in his experience it had never interfered with his sanity or his appetite or the Chippering Mill: it had never made his cigars taste bitter; it had never caused a deterioration in the appreciation of what he had achieved and held.
Not for worlds would Mr. Sprole have offended the agent of the Chippering Mill. "I was only joking, Claude," he hastened to explain. Ditmar, somewhat mollified but still dejected, sought the dining-room when the lawyer had gone. "All alone to-night, Colonel?" asked the coloured head waiter, obsequiously. Ditmar demanded a table in the corner, and consumed a solitary meal.
I has that piece in my pocket the day I went down to see old Stephen Chippering, when he made me agent, and I've kept it ever since. And I'll tell you a funny thing it's enough to make any man believe in luck. Do you remember that day last summer I was tinkering with the car by the canal and you came along?" "The day you pretended to be tinkering," she corrected him. He laughed.
It was the music, a hackneyed theme of Schubert's played heavily, that seemed to arouse the composite emotion of anger and hatred, yet of sustained attraction and wild regret she had felt before, but never so poignantly as now. And she lingered, perversely resolved to steep herself in the agony. "Who lives here" Rolfe asked. "Mr. Ditmar," she answered. "The agent of the Chippering Mill?"
George Chippering and two of the most influential directors. These conversations had covered the space of an hour or more. And perhaps as a result of self-suggestion, of his repeated assurances to Mr. Semple, to Mr. Chippering, and the directors of his ability to control the situation, Ditmar's habitual self-confidence was gradually restored.
"You mean keeping the operatives out of the mills?" "Yes, in the morning, when they go to work. And out of the Chippering Mill, especially. Ditmar, the agent of that mill, is the ablest of the lot, I'm told. He's the man we want to cripple." "Cripple!" exclaimed Janet. "Oh, I don't mean to harm him personally." Rolfe did not seem to notice her tone.
Brooks, I wish you could see the father, he's so typically unique if one may use the expression. A gatekeeper at the Chippering Mills!" "A gatekeeper?" "Yes, and I'm quite sure he doesn't understand to this day how he became one, or why. He's delightfully naive on the subject of genealogy, and I had the Bumpus family by heart before he left.
Ex officio, as the agent of the Chippering Mill and a man of substance to boot, he was "in" politics, hail fellow well met with and an individual to be taken into account by politicians from the governor and member of congress down.
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