In which we share a railway-carriage with a frostily emphatic Mr Snapper, who insists one must choose Masters or Hands, and is much put out by any hint that human feeling ought to sit beside Political Economy. Reaching Preston, we find not riot but quiet perseverance: orderly meetings, penny-by-penny solidarity, and a grave, steadfast belief in their cause, all shadowed by the sense that this long quarrel is a national calamity widening the gulf between those who must, for everyone’s sake, learn to understand one another.
