Horace reluctantly used "silver pounds" to pay the salary.
When the workers received those flimsy paper notes from the accountant's hands, everyone stared wide-eyed in astonishment.
"Thirty... silver pounds?!"
"Did I see it right..."
"Elsey, did you miscalculate?"
A textile worker in his thirties stared incredulously at the accountant handing him the money, as if everything before him was a dream, afraid to speak too loudly for fear of waking up.
But he was worried that if things weren't cleared up, the fierce guards would rush into the dormitory to reclaim the salary he "snatched" from the boss.
"Don't worry, it's correct! I counted every one's money carefully!" The young man named Elsey stood with a straight back, a confident smile on his face, stuffing the counted bills into the textile worker's palm.
His straight posture wasn't out of pride for his boss; it was purely because he too received his wages, giving him confidence.
