That's the killing feature of these times, Mrs
Trotman, there's no rallying in the place."
"I begin to think it's the machines," said Mrs Trotman.
"Nonsense," said Mr Trotman; "it's the corn laws. The town of
Mowbray ought to clothe the world with our resources. Why
Shuffle and Screw can turn out forty mile of calico per day;
but where's the returns? That's the point. As the American
gentleman said who left his bill unpaid, 'Take my breadstuffs
and I'll give you a cheque at sight on the Pennsylvanian
Bank.'"
"It's very true, said Mrs Trotman. "Who's there?"
"Nothing in my way?" said a woman with a basket of black
cherries with a pair of tin scales thrown upon their top.
"Ah! Mrs Carey," said Chaffing Jack, "is that you?"
"My mortal self, Mr Trotman, tho' I be sure I feel more like a
ghost than flesh and blood."
"You may well say that Mrs Carey; you and I have known Mowbray
as long I should think as any in this quarter--"
"And never see such times as these Mr Trotman, nor the like of
such. But I always thought it would come to this; everything
turned topsy-turvy as it were, the children getting all the
wages, and decent folk turned adrift to pick up a living as
they could.
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