The Paper Cap. A Story of Love and Labor

“Why-a, Annis, I want to tell thee I am building a mill.”

“Niver! Niver! Thee building a mill! I niver thought of such a to-do as that.”

“Nor I, either, till I was forced to do it, but when that hour arrived, my weavers and I came to the conclusion that we weren’t bound to starve to save anybody’s trade feelings. So I agreed to put up a factory and they hev got work here and there just to learn the ways of this new-fangled loom, so that when I hev t’ factory ready they’ll be ready for it and glad enough to come home.”

“I’m not the man to blame thee, Samuel; I hev hed some such thoughts mysen.”

“It was our preacher that put it into my mind. He said to us one night when the men had been complaining of machine labor – ‘Brothers, when God is on the side of civilization and the power-loom, how are you going to use the hand loom? The hand loom is dead and buried,’ he said, ‘and what is the use of keeping up a constant burying of this same old Defuncter. It’ll cost you all the brass you hev and you’ll die poor and good for nothing. The world is moving and you can’t hold it back. It will just kick you off as cumberers of the ground.’ And after that talk three men went out of t’ chapel and began to build factories; and I was one of t’ three and I’m none sorry for it —yet.”

“And where is tha building?”

“Down t’ Otley road a few miles from my awn house, but my three lads are good riders and it would be hard to beat me unless it was with better stock than I hev; and I niver let anyone best me in that way if I can help it. So the few miles does not bother us.”

“What made you build so far from Wade House?”

“Why-a, squire, I didn’t want to hev the sight of the blamed thing before my eyes, morning, noon and night, and t’ land I bought was varry cheap and hed plenty of water-power on it.”

“To be sure. I hed forgot. Well then what brought thee to London? It is a rayther dangerous place now, I can tell thee that; or it will be, if Parliament doesn’t heed the warnings given and shown.”

“Well, Annis, I came on my awn business and I’m not thinking of bothering Parliament at present. A factory is enough for all the brains I hev, for tha knows well that my brains run after horses – but I’ll tell thee what, factories hey a wonderful way of getting into your pocket.”

“That is nothing out of the way with thee. Thy pocket is too full, but I should think a factory might be built in Yorkshire without coming to London about it.”

“Annis, tha knaws that if I meddle wi’ anything, I’ll do what I do, tip-top or not at all. I hed the best of factory architects Leeds could give me and I hev ordered the best of power looms and of ivery other bit of machinery; but t’ ither day a man from Manchester went through Wade Mill and he asked me how many Jacquard looms I was going to run. I hed niver heard of that kind of a loom, but I felt I must hev some. Varry soon I found out that none of the weavers round Otley way knew anything about Jacquard looms and they didn’t seem to want to know either, but my eldest lad, Sam, said he would like to hev some and to know all about them. So I made good inquiry and I found out the best of all the Jacquard weavers in England lived in a bit of London called Spitalfields. He is a Frenchman, I suppose, for his name is Pierre Delaney.”

“And did you send your son to him?”

“I did that and now Sam knows all about Jacquard looms, for he sent me word he was coming home after a week in London just to look about him and then I thought I would like to see the machine at work and get the name of the best maker of it. So I came at once and I’m stopping at the hotel where t’ mail coach stopped, but I’m fairly bewildered. Sam has left his stopping place and I rayther think is on his way home. I was varry glad to see thy face among so many strange ones. I can tell thee that!”

“How can I help thee, Wade?”

“Why, thou can go with me to see this Jacquard loom and give me thy opinion.”

“I hev niver seen a Jacquard loom mysen and I would like to see one; but I could not go now, for as tha sees I hev my little lass with me.”

“Father, I want to see this loom at this place called Spitalfields. Let me go with you. Please, father, let me go with you; do!”

“There’s nothing to hinder,” said Squire Wade. “I should think, Annis, that thou and mysen could take care of t’ little lass.”

“Let me go, father!”

“Well, then, we will go at once. The day is yet early and bright, but no one can tell what it will be in an hour or two.”

So Wade called a coach and they drove to London’s famous manufacturing district noted for the excellence of its brocaded silks and velvet, and the beauty and variety of its ribbons, satins and lutestrings. The ride there was full of interest to Katherine and she needed no explanation concerning the groups of silent men standing at street corners sullen and desperate-looking, or else listening to some passionate speaker. Annis and Wade looked at each other and slightly shook their heads but did not make any remark. The locality was not a pleasant one; it spoke only of labor that was too urgent to have time for “dressing up,” as Pierre Delaney – the man they were visiting – explained to them.

They found Delaney in his weaving shop, a large many-windowed room full of strange looking looms and of men silent and intensely pre-occupied. No one looked round when they entered, and as Wade and Annis talked to the proprietor, Katherine cast her eyes curiously over the room. She saw that it was full of looms, large ponderous looms, with much slower and heavier movements than the usual one; and she could not help feeling that the long, dangling, yellow harness which hung about each loom fettered and in some way impeded its motion. The faces of all the workers were turned from the door and they appeared to be working slowly and with such strict attention that not one man hesitated, or looked round, though they must have known that strangers had entered the room.

In a few minutes Katherine’s curiosity was intense. She wanted to go close to the looms, and watch the men at what seemed to be difficult work. However, she had scarcely felt the thrill of this strong desire ere her father took her hand and they went with Delaney to a loom at the head of the room. He said “he was going to show them the work of one of his pupils, who had great abilities for patterns requiring unwavering attention and great patience; but in fact,” he added, “every weaver in this room has as much as he can manage, if he keeps his loom going.”

The man whose work they were going to examine must have heard them approaching, but he made no sign of such intelligence until they stood at his side. Then he lifted his head, and as he did so, Katherine cried out – “Father! Father! It is Harry! It is Harry Bradley! Oh Harry! Harry! Whatever are you doing here?” And then her voice broke down in a cry that was full both of laughter and tears.

Yes, it was really Harry Bradley, and with a wondering happy look he leaped from his seat, threw off his cap and so in a laughing hurry he stood before them. Squire Annis was so amazed he forgot that he was no longer friends with Harry’s father and he gave an honest expression of his surprise.

“Why-a, Harry! Harry! Whativer is tha up to? Does thy father know the kind of game thou art playing now, lad?”

“Squire, dear! It is business, not play, that I am up to. I am happy beyond words to see you, squire! I have often walked the road you take to The House, hoping I might do so.” And the young man put out his hand, and without thinking, the squire took it. Acting on impulse, he could not help taking it. Harry was too charming, too delightful to resist. He wore his working apron without any consciousness of it and his handsome face and joyful voice and manner made those few moments all his own. The squire was taken captive by a happy surprise and eagerly seconded Katherine’s desire to see him at such absorbing work as his loom appeared to require.

Harry took his seat again without parleying or excuse. He was laughing as he did so, but as soon as he faced the wonderful design before him, he appeared to be unconscious of everything else. His watchers were quickly lost in an all absorbing interest as they saw an exquisite design of leaves and flowers growing with every motion of the shuttle, while the different threads of the harness rose and fell as if to some perfectly measured tune.

And as he worked his face changed, the boyish, laughing expression disappeared, and it was a man’s face full of watchful purpose, alert and carefully bent on one object and one end. The squire noticed the change and he admired it. He wished secretly that he could see the same manly look on Dick’s face, forgetting that he had never seen Dick under the same mental strain.

But this reflection was only a thread running through his immense pleasure in the result of Harry’s wonderful manipulation of the forces at his command and his first impulse was to ask Harry to take dinner with him and Wade, at the Clarendon. He checked himself as regarded dinner, but he asked Harry:

“Where art thou staying, Harry? I shouldn’t think Spitalfields quite the place for thy health.”

“I am only here for working hours, squire. I have a good room at the Yorkshire Club and I have a room when I want it at Mistress Temple’s. I often stay there when Dick is in London.”

“My word!” ejaculated the squire. He felt at once that the young man had no need of his kindness, and his interest in him received a sudden chill.

This conversation occurred as Wade and Delaney were walking down the room together talking about Jacquard looms and their best maker. Katherine had been hitherto silent as far as words were concerned, but she had slipped her hand into Harry’s hand when he had finished his exhibition at the loom. It was her way of praising him and Harry had held the little hand fast and was still doing so when the squire said:

“Harry, looms are wonderful creatures – ay, and I’ll call them ‘creatures.’ They hev sense or they know how to use the sense of men that handle them properly. I hev seen plenty of farm laborers that didn’t know that much; but those patterns you worked from, they are beyond my making out.”

“Well, squire, many designs are very elaborate, requiring from twenty thousand to sixty thousand cards for a single design. Weaving like that is a fine art, I think.”

“Thou art right. Is tha going to stay here any longer to-day or will tha ride back with us?”

“Oh, sir, if I only might go back with you! In five minutes, I will be ready.”

The squire turned hastily away with three short words, “Make haste, then.” He was put out by the manner in which Harry had taken his civil offer. He had only meant to give him a lift back to his club but Harry appeared to have understood it as an invitation to dinner. He was wondering how he could get out of the dilemma and so did not notice that Harry kissed Katherine’s hand as he turned away. Harry had found few opportunities to address her, none at all for private speech, yet both Katherine and Harry were satisfied. For every pair of lovers have a code of their own and no one else has the key to it.

In a short time Harry reappeared in a very dudish walking suit, but Wade and Delaney were not ready to separate and the squire was hard set to hide his irritability. Harry also looked too happy, and too handsome, for the gentlemen’s dress of A. D. 1833 was manly and becoming, with its high hat, pointed white vest, frock coat, and long thin cane, always carried in the left hand. However, conversation even about money comes to an end and at length Wade was satisfied, and they turned city-ward in order to leave Wade at his hotel. On arriving there, Annis was again detained by Wade’s anxieties and fears, but Harry had a five minutes’ heavenly interlude. He was holding Katherine’s hand and looking into her eyes and saying little tender, foolish words, which had no more meaning than a baby’s prattle, but Katherine’s heart was their interpreter and every syllable was sweet as the dropping of the honey-comb.

Through all this broken conversation, however, Harry was wondering how he could manage to leave the coach with Katherine. If he could only see Lady Jane, he knew she would ask him to remain, but how was he to see Lady Jane and what excuse could he make for asking to see her? It never struck the young man that the squire was desirous to get rid of him. He was only conscious of the fact that he did not particularly desire an evening with Katherine’s father and mother and that he did wish very ardently to spend an evening with Katherine and Lady Jane; and the coach went so quick, and his thoughts were all in confusion, and they were at the Leyland mansion before he had decided what to say, or do. Then the affair that seemed so difficult, straightened itself out in a perfectly natural, commonplace manner. For when Katherine rose, as a matter of course, Harry also rose; and without effort, or consideration, said —

“I will make way for you, squire, or if you wish no further delay, I will see Katherine into Lady Leyland’s care.”

“I shall be obliged to you, Harry, if you will do so,” was the answer. “I am a bit tired and a bit late, and Mistress Annis will be worrying hersen about me, no doubt. I was just thinking of asking you to do me this favor.” Then the squire left a message for his eldest daughter and drove rapidly away, but if he had turned his head for a moment he might have seen how happily the lovers were slowly climbing the white marble steps leading them to Lady Leyland’s door. Hand in hand they went, laughing a little as they talked, because Harry was telling Katherine how he had been racking his brains for some excuse to leave the coach with her and how the very words had come at the moment they were wanted.

At the very same time the squire was telling himself “how cleverly he had got rid of the young fellow. He would hev bothered Annie above a bit,” he reflected, “and it was a varry thoughtless thing for me to do – asking a man to dinner, when I know so well that Annie likes me best when I am all by mysen. Well, I got out of that silly affair cleverly. It is a good thing to hev a faculty for readiness and I’m glad to say that readiness is one thing that Annie thinks Antony Annis hes on call. Well, well, the lad was glad to leave me and I was enough pleased to get rid of him.” And if any good fellow should read this last paragraph he will not require me to tell him how the little incident of “getting rid of Harry” brightened the squire’s dinner, nor how sweetly Annie told her husband that he was “the kindest-hearted of men and could do a disagreeable thing in such an agreeable manner, as no other man, she had ever met, would think of.”

Then he told Annie about the Jacquard loom and Harry’s mastery of it, and when this subject was worn out, Annie told her husband that Jane was going to introduce Katherine to London society on the following Tuesday evening. She wanted to make it Wednesday evening, but “Josepha would not hear of it” – she said, with an air of injury, “and Josepha always gets what she desires.”

“Why shouldn’t Josepha get all she desires? When a woman hes a million pounds to give away beside property worth a fortune the world hes no more to give her but her awn way. I should think Josepha is one of the richest women in England.”

“However did the Admiral get so much money?”

“All prize money, Annie. Good, honest, prize money! The Admiral’s money was the price of his courage. He threshed England’s enemies for every pound of it; and when we were fighting Spain, Spanish galleons, loaded with Brazilian gold, were varry good paymasters even though Temple was both just and generous to his crews.”