There were men of all ages amongst them, from about eighteen
years old to white-headed men past sixty. Most of them looked
healthy and a little embrowned by recent exposure to the weather;
and here and there was a pinched face which told its own tale. I got
into talk with a quiet, hardy-looking man, dressed in soil-stained
corduroy. He was a kind of overlooker. He told me that there were
from eighty to ninety factory hands employed in that quarry. "But,"
said he, "it varies a bit, yo known. Some on 'em gets knocked up
neaw an' then, an' they han to stop a-whoam a day or two; an' some
on 'em connot ston gettin' weet through--it mays 'em ill; an' here
an' theer one turns up at doesn't like the job at o'--they'd rayther
clem. There is at's both willin' an' able; thoose are likely to get
a better job, somewheer. There's othersome at's willin' enough, but
connot ston th' racket. They dun middlin', tak 'em one wi' another,
an' considerin' that they're noan use't to th' wark. Th' hommer fo's
leet wi' 'em; but we dunnot like to push 'em so mich, yo known--for
what's a shillin' a day? Aw know some odd uns i' this delph at never
tastes fro mornin' till they'n done at neet,--an' says nought abeawt
it, noather.
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