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Updated: June 26, 2025
"Plain-speaking is what our folk like," John Henneford assured him, as they sat side by side in the small open car driven by one of the committee; "plain, honest words; sound advice, with a bit o' grit in it." "'To hell with the masters! is the motto they like best," Preston remarked, moving his pipe to the corner of his mouth. "It's an old text but it's an ever popular one.
"I believe, in my heart," Maraton said, "that he is a people's man." They sped on through deserted spaces, past smoke-stained factories, across cobbled streets, past a wilderness of small houses, grimy, everywhere repellent. Soon they entered Manchester by the back way and pulled up presently at a small and unimposing hotel. "We've taken a room for you here," Henneford announced.
They all looked at one another a little blankly. Peter Dale grunted with expressionless face and relit his pipe, which had gone out during these few moments of intense listening. Graveling reached out his hand and took a cigar from a box which had been placed upon the table. Henneford and his neighbour exchanged glances, which culminated in a stealthy wink.
"I have looked them through," Maraton replied, "but most of their contents were familiar to me. I made a study of the condition of all your industries so far as I could, last year." "Between you and me," Peter Dale grumbled, "this meeting ought to have been held in Newcastle and not Manchester. These cotton chaps of yours, Henneford, ain't doing so badly. It's my miners that want another leg up."
I have messages to send away, and an early train to catch in the morning." They were passing out of the room almost in silence, but Henneford struck the table with his fist. "Come," he exclaimed, "we seem in a queer humour to-night! Don't let Mr. Maraton think too hardly of us. Wherever his place may be in the future, he's done us a grand service to-night, and don't let's forget it.
"It will do very nicely, I am sure," Maraton replied. The place was an ordinary commercial hotel, clean apparently but otherwise wholly unattractive. Henneford led the way up-stairs and with some pride threw open the door of a room on the first floor. "We've got you a sitting-room," he said. "Thought you might want to talk to these Press people, perhaps, or do a bit of work.
Henneford struck the table with his fist. "Rot!" he exclaimed. "Your miners have just had a turn. Half-a-crown a week extra, and a minimum wage what more do you want? And a piece of plate and a nice fat cheque for Mr. Dale," he added, turning to the others and winking. Peter Dale beamed good-humouredly upon them. "Well," he retorted, "I earned it. You fellows should organise in the same way.
"Been spending the week-end with Foley, haven't you?" Preston enquired, closing his eyes a little. Maraton nodded. "Yes," he confessed, "I have been there." "There are many that don't think much of Foley," Henneford remarked. "Myself I am not sure what to make of him. I think he'd be a people's man, right enough, if it wasn't for the Cabinet."
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