Come to terms--if you can--and let us be at peace; sweet, balmy peace." "Peace is a good thing, no doubt," said Henry, "but" (rather bitterly) "I don't thank Cheetham for letting me run blindfold into trouble, and me a stranger." "Oh," said Bayne, "he is no worse than the rest, believe me.

What does any master care for a man's life?
Profit and loss go down in figures; but life--that's a cipher in all their ledgers." "Oh, come," said Harry, "it is unphilosophical and narrow-minded to fasten on a class the faults of a few individuals, that form a very moderate portion of that class." Bayne seemed staggered by a blow so polysyllabic; and Henry, to finish him, added, "Where there's a multitude, there's a mixture." Now the first sentence he had culled from the Edinburgh Review, and the second he had caught from a fellow-workman's lips in a public-house; and probably this was the first time the pair of phrases had ever walked out of any man's mouth arm in arm.

He went on to say, "And as for Cheetham, he is not a bad fellow, take him altogether.

But you are a better for telling me the truth.

Forewarned, forearmed." He went home thoughtful, and not so triumphant and airy as yesterday; but still not dejected, for his young and manly mind summoned its energy and spirit to combat this new obstacle, and his wits went to work.
Being unable to sleep for thinking of what he should do he was the first to reach the works in the morning.