William kept walking. He wiped snow from his moustache with one of the coarse gloves Iris had knit for him. We never asked for a cent higher wages, he thought. We only wanted work.

He remembered another union meeting, before the last one with the merchants. Every union man agreed. We were determined to stand up for our rights. Our president, George Power, gave the noblest kind of a speech.

George is his name, William thought. The papers wouldn't even report his first name because he wasn't an Honourable this or an Honourable that. They treat the working man like a nobody even if he's the union president.

We all said we'd never give in. Now look at us. Working side by side with the non-union men who took the work away from us.

George Power wasn't making his big speeches when he met those merchants. No sir, he wasn't. Docile as you like. That's how we all became. You may as well stuff us in our own barrels and set us adrift. That's all the life of a journeyman cooper is worth these days.

And why did they have to hold that last meeting in the merchants' offices? We should have had it in the union hall. It was the merchants' meeting, not ours. Make no mistake. "Admitted we were wrong." That's a good one. It's a wonder we never said how sorry we were to have troubled them. It's a wonder we never licked their boots.