SHANKS' DABBIN
Shortly after his visit to Dryholm, Jim returned, one morning, from the
market town, where he had gone to see his lawyer and banker. When he
reached Langrigg he found Jake on the terrace.
"Doing nothing makes me tired," the latter remarked. "I know you want
to keep us, and mother and Carrie like it here, but we can't stay for
good."
"Your mother and sister can stay until they have had enough, and I hope
that won't be soon; but I know you, Jake, and think you're mean.
Anyhow, you can get rid of your scruples, because I'm going to give you
a job. I've decided to drain the marsh."
"Labor's cheap in this country, but I reckon it's some job. However,
now there's something doing----"
"You'll stay and see me out?" Jim suggested. "Thank you, partner!
Doesn't seem much use in stating that what is mine is yours, but I wish
you'd get it. Another thing; this draining is a business proposition
and we're partners in that sense, too. Now we'll tell your mother."
They told Mrs. Winter at lunch, and Jim saw that she hesitated and
looked at Carrie. The girl's face was, however, inscrutable, and she
gave no sign. Jim felt puzzled. He thought Mrs. Winter liked Langrigg
and she had developed since she came. She was not so thin, she had
lost her careworn look and gained a certain ease of manner. At the
store, she had been highly-strung and restless; now she was happily
calm. Moreover, she was making her influence felt and quietly taking
control. Jim had noted that things were done better and cost him less.
He wanted her to stay, because he thought she needed a rest and he
would miss her if she went.
"Well," she said, doubtfully, "if you are all satisfied----"
"I am satisfied," Jim declared. "I imagine Jake is, but Carrie hasn't
told us yet."
Carrie gave him a quick glance and he thought her color was rather high.
"You are kind," she said. "Mother looks younger than she has looked
for long and perhaps we had better accept. But it is a big undertaking
to drain the marsh. When do you begin?"
"I thought we might begin this afternoon. However, I don't expect to
drain it all right off. There's a pretty dry piece where I mean to
start. I reckon I've money enough for the experiment, and can develop
my plans afterwards when I see what the first lot costs."
Carrie laughed and the hint of strain all had felt vanished. "You are
certainly the hustling Jim we knew," she said. "I feel as if we were
back in the woods."
After lunch Jim crossed the marsh with Jake and stopped where a ridge
of higher ground broke off at the edge of a muddy creek. In the
corner, partly sheltered by a bank of gorse, stood a small white house
with a roof of rusty iron where the thatch had been. The whitewash had
fallen off in places, exposing a rough, granulated wall, for the house
was a dabbin, built of puddled clay. A window was broken and the door
hung crookedly. Except for a few rows of withered potatoes, the garden
was occupied by weeds. Three or four shellducks, hatched from wild
birds' eggs, paddled about the creek.
"Shanks' dabbin; his father squatted here," Jim remarked. "I reckon
I'm going to have trouble with the fellow."
He opened the broken gate and two men came out. One was bent and moved
awkwardly, but Jake imagined that rheumatism rather than age had
stiffened his joints. He looked at Jim with sullen suspicion. The
other was young and strongly made.
"I've come to give you an offer, Shanks," Jim began. "This house is
not fit to live in; I want you to use the cottage at Bank-end instead.
There's a good piece of garden and a row of fruit trees."
"Dabbin's bad, but it's mine," said Shanks. "You canna put me oot."
"I don't want to put you out; I want you to go. Anyhow, the dabbin
isn't yours. You have no title to the ground and I understand have
been warned off, but we won't bother about that. Bank-end cottage is
dry and comfortable and you can have it for your lifetime."
"I willun't gan."
Jim turned to the younger man. "This place is damp and falling down.
Can't you persuade your father?"
"I'm none for trying. He has t' right o' it."
There was silence for a few moments and then Shanks asked: "What for
do you want the bit hoose?"
"I want to pull it down. The dyke I'm going to build starts here and
the new cut for the creek must go through your garden."
Shanks looked at his son and remarked with dull surprise: "He's gan t'
dyke marsh!"
The other said nothing and Shanks turned to Jim. "If you were letten
dry out marsh, t' wild geese and ducks wad gan."
"It's possible. We'll raise good grass and corn instead. Dairy cows
are worth more than shellducks."
"But you'll niver be letten," Shanks replied doggedly.
"Shucks!" said Jim. "The marsh is mine. Although you have no claim to
this place, I'll give you Bank-end, the garden, and if needful the
small field. You and your son can make pretty good pay there if you
like to work. If you'd sooner loaf and shoot, there's the creek and
sands."
"'T' lag geese follow marsh," Shanks insisted.
Jim pondered and Jake studied the others. He had not seen men like
these in Canada, where some of the Indians owned good farms and those
who hunted had first-rate guns and canoes. Shanks and his son were
ragged and dirty. They slouched and looked slack and dull, although
now and then the younger man's eyes gleamed cunningly. Then Jim said:
"We won't argue about it. The dabbin must come down and when you're
ready to move to Bank-end you can tell my teamster to take your
household fixings along. If this doesn't meet the bill, I'll give you
a hundred pounds and you can go where you like."
Shanks said nothing and Jim went off. When they were out of hearing
Jake remarked: "I allow you had to be firm, but I don't like it, Jim.
Those fellows are what we call bad men."
"I imagine we have been up against worse."
"That's so. All the same, I wish you had been able to leave them
alone."
"I can't leave them alone, because the dyke must cross that corner of
the creek. They're about the meanest whites I've met, and I certainly
don't want them at Bank-end. I'd sooner they took the hundred pounds
and quit."
"How do they live?"
"By wildfowling and fishing, though I'm told they snare rabbits and
poach pheasants."
"Well, I suppose you're giving Shanks his chance of making good. The
trouble is, he's forced to take the chance, whether he wants or not.
Some folks would sooner live like dogs than decent citizens."
"Do you think one ought to indulge their prejudice?"
"I don't," Jake admitted. "It would be bad economy. For all that I'd
watch the fellows."
They let it go and talked about Jim's plans as they crossed the short
grass where the silver-weed spread its carpet of yellow flowers. They
trampled through belts of withered thrift and skirted winding creeks
where tall reeds shook their bent leaves in the searching wind. Light
and shadow sped across the marsh, and a flock of plover, shining white
and black, circled above the sands. Jake got a sense of space and
loneliness he had not expected to feel in England, but he smiled as he
noted Jim's brisk step and the sparkle in his eyes. He knew his
comrade and saw he was happy. The marsh was something to conquer and
the struggle would absorb his energies.
Next day Jim returned to the market town. He was occupied for some
time ordering tools, and driving back in the afternoon, hesitated as he
got near the cross road that led to Whitelees. He wanted to see
Evelyn, and Mrs. Halliday had told him to come when he liked, but it
was perhaps significant that he wanted also to get on with his draining
plans. Seeing Evelyn was a satisfaction he unconsciously reserved for
his leisure; she was not, like Carrie, to some extent his working
partner and critic. He took the road to Whitelees and smiled. Perhaps
Carrie was patient when he thought her keen: it was possible that she
was sometimes bored.
Mrs. Halliday received him in a room that looked full of ornaments and
flowers, and gave him tea in beautiful china. He was half-afraid to
handle the fragile cup and plate and hesitated about eating his slice
of dainty cake. He had been examining machines and thought his clothes
smelt of oil; somehow he felt big and awkward. By and by Mrs. Halliday
asked what had occupied him in town, and he told her about his plans.
Evelyn looked interested.
"If you begin your dyke where you propose, won't Shanks' dabbin be in
the way?"
"The dabbin must come down," Jim replied.
A question from Mrs. Halliday led to his relating his interview with
Shanks, and Evelyn said, "Could you not have left the old man his
cottage? After all, it is picturesque."
"It isn't picturesque when you are near. Does beauty go with dirt and
neglect?"
"Perhaps it does not. I suppose the old Greeks gave us our standard of
beauty and they attained it by careful cultivation. For all that, they
rather conventionalized their type and one likes people with pluck
enough to strike an independent note. To some extent, one can
sympathize with Shanks, because he won't be clean by rule."
Jim unconsciously looked about the room, and Evelyn laughed. "Oh," she
said, "we don't copy the Greeks! Their model was austere simplicity,
the bold, flowing line: but we are luxuriously modern. However, it
would have been a graceful plan to leave Shanks alone."
"It wouldn't have been sound. You can't neglect a job that ought to be
put over, because you'd like to be graceful."
"You're not Greek," said Evelyn. "You're Roman."
"Then, if I get your meaning, Shanks is a barbarian, and the barbarians
who stood up against Roman order and efficiency were crushed. It's
probably lucky for Europe the legions marched over them."
"I suppose one must agree. It looks as if I must try again. What
about the king who coveted the vineyard?"
"To begin with, the other man owned the vineyard, but the ground Shanks
occupies is mine. Then it was a vineyard, while the Shanks homestead
is a hovel in a weed-choked garden lot. Anyhow, if you'd like it, I'll
see if it is possible to leave his place alone."
Evelyn was flattered. She enjoyed the sense of power, but she
hesitated. Jim was easy to understand and had gone farther than she
had thought. To let him make a concession that might cost him extra
work would give him a claim, and she did not want him for a creditor
yet.
"Oh, no," she said carelessly, "you mustn't change your plans! I was
indulging a romantic sentiment and expect you know what you ought to
do. But you were nice when you were willing to think about the thing."
Then Mrs. Halliday began to talk and presently Jim got up.
"I must go," he said. "I didn't know I had stayed so long."
Evelyn gave him her hand and smiled. "I expect you will be occupied,
but if you have time to come back you will find us at home."
"Thank you," said Jim. "I was half-afraid I'd bored you. I'll
certainly have time."
He went out and Mrs. Halliday looked at Evelyn thoughtfully. "On the
whole, I imagine you were tactful. I expect you saw Jim's offer to
leave Shanks alone was not made without an effort."
"I did see," Evelyn admitted. "I don't know if it was flattering or
not." She paused and resumed with a touch of color: "For all that, I
did not refuse because I was tactful; one sometimes gets tired of
acting. Besides, it would be thrown away on Jim. He's not
accomplished and critical like Lance; he's frank and strong."
"He is worth cultivating," Mrs. Halliday remarked, picking up a book.
She knew when to stop and Evelyn now and then developed a rebellious
mood.
For a week Jim was occupied bringing tools and materials from the town
and clearing the ground. Shanks gave no sign that he meant to move,
until one morning Jim's teamster asked: "Am I to gan t' dabbin and tak'
a load to Bank-end?"
Jim told him to go and turned to Jake. "That's fixed! I've been
holding back for a day or two and now we can push ahead. The dabbin
must come down before we stop to-night."
In the evening, Jake and Carrie went with him across the marsh. The
workmen had gone but wheelbarrows, spades, and planks lay about, and a
bank of fresh soil touched the edge of the neglected garden. Gray
clouds drifted across the gloomy sky, a cold wind tossed the reeds, and
the dabbin looked strangely forlorn in the fading light. Carrie
shivered as she entered with Jim, who carried a coil of fuse and a tin
box. The clay walls were stained by damp and the broken window was
grimed by dirt. A few peats occupied a corner, and a pile of ashes, on
which tea-leaves and scraps of food had been thrown, stretched across
the floor from the rusty grate. Jim went to the window and began to
cut the fuse.
"I've got things ready and might have waited until to-morrow but the
job's been bothering me and I want to put it over," he said. "Do you
think I'm harsh?"
"No," said Carrie, firmly. "Shanks is white trash and lives like a
hog. They wouldn't have stood for him a month at our settlements. But
how do you think he'll use Bank-end?"
Jim smiled. "I expect I'll have to burn down the cottage when he has
done with it; his son is certainly not going to stop there afterwards.
I don't know if a rich man is justified in loafing or not. We'll leave
that to the economists, but I've frankly no use for the fellow who
wants to loaf at other folk's expense. However, I'll fix the powder
and we'll pull out. I don't like the job."
Carrie nodded. "You are a builder, Jim, but before one builds one must
clear the ground. Things must be pulled down."
"You're a staunch friend," said Jim. "You always understand and
generally approve."
"Perhaps it's because we often agree; but if I were really staunch, I'd
tell you when I thought you wrong. This needs some pluck."
"I'd weigh what you told me."
Carrie was silent for a moment, thinking about Evelyn. The girl had,
so to speak, dazzled Jim. Carrie did not approve, but could not meddle.
"I wonder!" she remarked. "Anyhow you must hustle. It's getting dark."
After a few minutes Jim lighted the fuse and they went out and stood
some distance off. The light had nearly gone, and the dabbin loomed
dark and desolate against a belt of tossing reeds. Jim thought an
indistinct figure stole through the gloom of the hedge, and he shouted
a warning.
The figure vanished. There was a flash behind the broken window and
the shock of an explosion. For a moment the hovel was filled with
light; then it tottered and a cloud of smoke rolled about the falling
walls. Blocks of hard clay splashed in the creek and fell about the
marsh. The smoke cleared and Carrie saw the dabbin had gone. A pile
of rubbish, round which thin vapor drifted, marked the spot it had
occupied. A man stood on the end of the ridge of high ground, his bent
figure outlined against the sky, holding up his arms as if in protest.
Then he vanished, and Jim and the others started silently for Langrigg.