If the men went on strike, he could then reasonably lock his factory gates.

No, he could not.

The inner John Hatton would not permit the outer man to do such a thing.

His looms must work while he had a pound of cotton to feed them.
This resolution, warm and strong in his heart, cheered him, and he hastened home.

Then he wondered how it would be with him there, and a feeling of unhappiness conquered for a moment.