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But, hang it all! Who can tell? And anyway, I wasn't in the grave then and I am not now. My hair wasn't grey — it's only partly grey now, and I am not 'in sorrow' either. There are many things I am sorry about; many things I ought to have done and didn't, and many others I might have done better. But I am not worrying over spilt milk: I am not 'in sorrow.'
I have a dear, good wife; happy, loving children, and a fairly important job of work in which I am very interested and do thoroughly enjoy. Could any man say more in the evening of his life?
And I remember always one beautiful incident, which I promised to tell about when I came to the end of my story.
It was when matters were looking very black indeed that I called my staff around me and told them I had no choice but to sack half of them and try to carry on with the other half till things looked up again. They didn't say anything; just quietly slipped away. Next day they came back at me with a 'round robin' signed by all of them. It asked me to give up the idea of keeping half the staff at full wages and instead keep them all on at half-pay. I was glad to agree to this, for it seemed to me to be a very fine and generous gesture.
But the day came, and not so very long after, when I had to tell them that there was no money left and with bitter regret I must part with all of them, in spite of the fine thing they had done to help me try to save the sinking ship. It is difficult to believe how they met that final blow.
They sent a small deputation to me to ask whether I could find money to buy enough paint to paint the factory. I said it was not impossible, but why?
They bought the paint, plenty of it, and without a penny of pay they set to and painted the whole factory, inside and out: the women and girls painted the inside and the men the exteriors. It took a long time but they kept on until it was well and truly finished. That was their tribute. Even after all these years my eyes, are smarting as I write of it.
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