They meant to have a Staffordshire man down to act as foreman and put
things on a better footing.
"I'll write to my brother to send one," said Mr. Yolland. "He's a
curate in the potteries; has a wonderful turn for this sort of
thing."
"Have you a brother a clergyman?" I said, rather surprised, and to
fill up Harold's silence.
"Yes, my brother Ben. It's his first curacy, and his two years are
all but up. I don't know if he will stay on. He's a right down
jolly good fellow is Ben, and I wish he would come down here."
Neither of us echoed the wish. Harold had no turn for clergymen
after the specimen of Mr. Smith; and Mr. Yolland, though I could
specify nothing against him but that he was rough and easy, had
offended me by joining us, when I wanted Harold all to myself.
Besides, was he not deluding my nephews into this horrid Hydriot
Company, of which they would be the certain victims?
The Staffordshire man came, and the former workmen looked very bitter
on him. After a meeting, in which the minority made many vehement
objections, Eustace addressed the workmen in the yards--that is to
say, he thought he did; but Harold and Mr. Yolland made his meaning
more apparent. A venture in finer workmanship, imitating Etruscan
ware, was to be made, and, if successful, would much increase trade
and profits, and a rise in wages was offered to such as could
undertake the workmanship.
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