'I always like to come and hear you and the other bigwigs of the movement,' he said; 'but I can't be bothered listening to the small fry. But I don't look on you as a great orator—you don't mind me telling you that? As a speaker you are not in the same boat with John Burns. But you have a mighty sight more in your head than he has. I haven't read any of your poetry, but I expect it's uncommonly good. A man with a head like yours is bound to have great ideas in it. I'm a bit of a phrenologist, you see. Have you ever read Dr. George Combe's works?'
Morris, who listened to the carpenter's familiarities with amusement, replied that he had not.
'Then, sir, you've missed a treat. Combe was one of the greatest thinkers this country has produced. He beats your Bacon, Locke, and Berkeley altogether.'
Having delivered this judgment, the carpenter relapsed into a dozing condition in his corner. A few minutes later, observing through the carriage window the glowing cupola of the steel works and blast-furnaces of the Parkhead Forge, Morris remarked that the district reminded him of Middlesbrough, and said something about Sir Lothian Bell, the great ironmaster of that neighbourhood. At the mention of Sir Lothian Bell's name, our carpenter friend pricked up his ears.
'Sir Lothian Bell—Sir Lothian Bell,' he muttered, as if dimly recalling the name. Then after a pause, and looking hard at Morris, he asked, 'What do you know about Sir Lothian Bell?'
'Why,' replied Morris, 'I just happen to know a little about him. You see I worked for him once.'
The carpenter sat up astounded. 'What!' he exclaimed. 'You mean to say you have worked for Sir Lothian Bell? I don't believe it.'
'Well, believe it or not, my friend, it is a fact none the less,' said Morris, tickled at the man's absurdity. Scrutinising Morris' face to discover if he was in some way fooling him, the carpenter repeated his declaration: 'I don't believe it.'
