"When they let me out of prison," he began, gently, "I made tracks, of
course, for my old workshop. My patron had a particular liking for me
before; but when he saw me he turned green with fright and showed me the
door with a shaking hand."
While he stood in the street, uneasy and disconcerted, he was accosted
by a middle-aged man who introduced himself as an engineer's fitter,
too. "I know who you are," he said. "I have attended your trial. You are
a good comrade and your ideas are sound. But the devil of it is that you
won't be able to get work anywhere now. These bourgeois'll conspire to
starve you. That's their way. Expect no mercy from the rich."
To be spoken to so kindly in the street had comforted him very much. His
seemed to be the sort of nature needing support and sympathy. The idea
of not being able to find work had knocked him over completely. If his
patron, who knew him so well for a quiet, orderly, competent workman,
would have nothing to do with him now--then surely nobody else would.
That was clear.
Pages:
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234