said, "Well, I must
be goin' now."

Again anger flashed from Polly's eyes, but still controlling her temper
she said: "Ay, but you'll come back this evening, won't you, Tom? Jim
Dixon's coming to tea, and if you're not here, and he wur to ask me to
go out for a walk with him tonight, I shouldn't have any excuse for
refusing."

There could be no doubt about it that, to Tom, Polly Powell looked very
alluring. She was rather older than he, and her beauty was of a highly
coloured order. At that moment Tom's mind was much distracted,
nevertheless as the sound of the deep-toned bell in the Town Hall tower
died away he determined to take his leave.

"And I thought we might have such a nice time, too," she said,
following him. "But never mind, you'll be back this evening. Ay, Tom
lad, tha doesn't know when tha'art well off." And she gave him her
most bewitching smile.

Tom hurried up Liverpool Road with the sound of Polly's voice in his
ears and the memory of the flash in her great black eyes in his mind.
"She is a grand lass," he reflected, "and she's fair gone on me too;
and what's more she's not so finickin' as some lasses are. After all,
why should I be so straitlaced? She's a lass as loves good company,
she likes a lark, and--and----" After that Tom became thoughtful.

Tom Pollard was typical of thousands of lads who dwell in the
manufacturing districts of Lancashire. His father and mother had been
weavers, and while his mother had ceased going to the mill, his father
still earned his thirty shillings a week behind the looms. They did
not belong to the best class of Lancashire operatives, and Tom's home
influence was not all it might have been. That was why, years before,
many wondered that Tom promised to turn out so well. He was not
particularly clever, but he possessed a large share of the proverbial
Lancashire sharpness and common sense; he had an eye to the main
chance, and dreamt of becoming something better than an ordinary
weaver. For that reason he had attended some technical classes at the
Mechanics' Institute, and, as Polly Powell had reminded him, had only a
few months before taken prizes there. Young as he was, he had already
been promised a Tackler's job, which meant that he would be a kind of
foreman, and have the oversight of a small part of a mill. This, Tom
was sure, would open the way to a more responsible position, and then
if he had good luck he might in a few years start manufact