THE MILLIONAIRE'S PICNIC.
'Oh dear! my head aches, at any rate,' sighed Horatia when they came out
of about the fiftieth room. 'I am glad we are going motoring; it will
blow my headache away.'
'Ay, it's a big place, is Clay's,' said the millionaire with an air of
satisfaction.
'There's Uncle Howroyd. I'm going to ask him to come with us to-day,'
observed Sarah abruptly.
'What's he wanting?' inquired his half-brother.
Whatever Mr William Howroyd wanted with the millionaire, it did not seem
important, for he stopped when Sarah met him, and the two went off
together, away from Clay's Mills; and Mr Clay, after waiting a moment to
see if his brother was returning, turned to Horatia. 'If you'll excuse
me, young lady, I'll give some orders for this afternoon, and tell them
to have some pieces done, ready for me to see when I come back. That's
the way to get rich, my lass; look after the pieces and the bales'll look
after themselves.' And the millionaire, with a hoarse laugh, went off to
'look after the pieces.'
Horatia stood at the door looking after him, and scarcely noticed a man
who half-smiled and raised his hat. She supposed that he was a man with
some manners, which the rest of them did not seem to possess; she had no
idea that it was a personal attention to her till he said, 'We're much
obliged to you for making t'master listen to us. It's saved a lot o'
trouble for the minute.'
Now, Horatia, as will have been noticed, acted and spoke upon impulse, so
she now asked eagerly, 'What trouble has it saved? And why has it only
been saved for the minute? Were you all going to strike if he hadn't seen
you?'
'Can't say what we mightn't have been obliged to do,' said the man.
'I don't see how you are obliged to do anything unless you like; but was
that what they wanted you to do?' persisted Horatia.
'That was one thing. But, see here, missy, if you can speak a word for
us, do 'e. They say you can do a lot wi' the master; he's a bit too hard
wi' us, and the young uns won't stand it. That's where the trouble will
come in.'
'What kind of trouble?' inquired Horatia.
The man did not look at her. He was gray-haired, and had been at Clay's
Mills for twenty years, and had an affection for the place. Besides
which, he was 'used to the master's ways,' and knew that a good workman
earned good wages and need not fear being turned off so long as he did
good work; but the younger men hated Mark Clay, and there were fewer old
men there than in most mills, for the moment they got ill or showed signs
of feebleness in any way they were discharged. Mark Clay lost more than
he gained, for they would have kept the younger ones in order. But all
this the man did not say to Horatia; he only repeated, 'I can't say what
they might not do when their blood's up.'
'But tell me what they say they'll do.'
'Strike,' said the man. 'But you'd best not repeat that,' he added,
almost regretting his confidence, and going off for fear of adding more.
'There's a fool's trick you've been at, Sam,' said a comrade, 'a-telling
that young lady what the men say. She'll repeat it all to the master.'
'I never breathed a word of their threats. I only said they'd strike, and
he knows they've threatened that before.'
'You didn't say a word about what them young lads said they'd do--you
know what?' the other demanded. 'They'd be turned off to-morrow if he got
wind on 't.'
'D' ye think I'm a fool? Of course I didn't. But I'll tell you what.
They've got som'at in their heads at Balmoral, for that young lady kept
on asking what they would do and what trouble there would be if the
master didn't do what we asked him,' retorted the first speaker.
The second looked gloomily before him. 'It'll be a bad day for my Tom if
them words of his get repeated to the master; and it's nought but lads'
hotheaded talk; they don't mean it.'
'I'm none so sure o' that, mate; but it's best to forget it. Anyway, the
master's off gallivanting for the day, and mayhap it'll take his mind off
the mills a bit. If he'd do that more frequent it 'u'd be better for
all--better for him and better for us,' the man wound up gravely.
In the meantime Sarah had gone to meet her uncle, and invited him to come
motoring.
'Me! Nay, lass; I've other fish to fry. I'm not a millionaire like Mark,
able to go away and amuse myself all day.'
'Now, uncle, you know that's nonsense; you can get away far more easily
than father, because you are not in such a frightful hurry to get rich.
Besides, you can always stop your work to do an act of charity, and it is
a real act of charity to come with us to-day,' declared Sarah, tucking
her arm in her uncle's.
'Indeed! How's that? Is Tom Fox, the chauffeur, ill, and have I got to do
his work?' inquired Mr Howroyd.
'No; and if he were, one of the other chauffeurs could take his place.
You've got to come and sit beside me, so as to prevent any one else
sitting beside me, because you are the only one I can bear to have near
me,' explained Sarah.
'Upon my word, if I were not your old uncle I should feel quite
flattered,' said Mr Howroyd in a joking way; but he grew grave as he
added, 'But as it is, my lass, I'm sorry to hear you talk like that.
What's wrong with the others, eh?'
'I don't know that there's anything wrong with them. I think it's me that
there's something wrong with,' replied Sarah.
'But I don't understand. Didn't you tell me Miss Horatia was to be of the
party? What's gone crooked between you two?' he inquired.
'I don't know; at least, it sounds silly, but I can't bear her being such
friends with father. She seems to think everything he does and says all
right, and it isn't; it's all wrong, and I think it's horrid of her!'
said Sarah.
'Steady there, my lass. I don't think it's the place of children to
criticise their elders at all, and certainly not their fathers; and as
for this you tell me about Miss Horatia, why, what would you have her
do--abuse her host, and talk against him to his daughter?'
'You don't understand, Uncle Howroyd. Just you come for this picnic, and
then see if I am not right,' begged Sarah.
'I sha'n't think that; but I think I'll come, only I must go home and
change first, and give some orders for the men,' said her uncle.
'Then I'll come too. I feel as if I shall say something horrid to
somebody if I don't.'
'Then you'd best come along with me, for you'll be poor company for the
others in this mood;' and he took her back to Howroyd's Mill with him.
An hour later the five started for Fountains Abbey, with a huge hamper
strapped on at the back of the car.
'It's a pity you don't appreciate good liquor, Bill, for there's
first-class champagne there,' said Mark Clay as they spun along.
'I don't know that it is, for I couldn't afford it very often,' remarked
his brother cheerfully.
'Pshaw! I've no patience with such rubbish! You could afford it fast
enough if you didn't waste all your money in pensioning off half your old
incapables and keeping the others at work, and going on as if you ran a
mill for the benefit of the hands,' said the millionaire.
'So I do, I hope,' replied his brother, with the same good-humoured
twinkle in his eye.
'Then I suppose you'll be giving them all the profits next, and we shall
see you working as a hand yourself?' said Mark Clay, in a tone that
implied his expectation of such a thing, as, indeed, was the case.
Mr William Howroyd laughed quietly. 'I shall keep the head of Howroyd's
Mill as long as I live, as my father was before me, and his father before
him, and I shall look after the old folks as they did, and, as I hope,
those that'll come after me will do.'
There was silence for a moment, for Mr Howroyd was not married, and they
wondered who would come after him. Mark Clay thought the mill should be
made into a company with his; but William Howroyd had very decidedly
declined to entertain that idea.
So it happened that it was with these words in their ears that they came
into sight of the beautiful ruins of Fountains Abbey, built by those who
acted upon the same principles.
Horatia had sat between Mr and Mrs Clay all the way; but the minute they
arrived she caught Sarah by the arm and said, 'Come and explore the
ruins, and let us find a place and take a sketch of it.'
'We must stop with the others,' said Sarah.
'Oh no, we needn't; you are only saying that because you are cross with
me, and it's no good, because I can't help the things that you don't like
in me. And besides, I want to talk to you.'
'How do you know what things I don't like?' inquired Sarah.
Horatia danced a queer little dance of her own, and then, coming back to
Sarah, said, 'Of course I can feel when you don't like things, but I
can't help that. Come and have a walk with me; I want to ask you about
something.'
There was no resisting Horatia's good spirits, and it was too glorious a
day to quarrel or be disagreeable; so, after seeing that Mr William
Howroyd had gone off with her father and mother, Sarah walked along with
Horatia. 'What do you want to ask me about?' she demanded of her friend.
'Well, it's this: why do you hate being rich?' she asked.
Sarah stared at her in wonder for a moment. 'Was that really what you
wanted to ask me?' and as Horatia nodded her head, she continued, 'What
an extraordinary question! I should think any one could see why for
herself. Do you think it's any pleasure to eat off Sèvres china, so
valuable that a servant goes in dread of his life lest he should break a
piece, or to have gold plate one is afraid of scratching, or to be
surrounded by stuffy carpets?'
Horatia interrupted her with a merry little laugh. 'How can you be
surrounded by carpets?' she demanded.
'You know quite well what I mean, only you choose to turn it off with a
laugh, and that's one of the things I don't like about you; you turn
things just the way you choose. And the carpets do seem to stifle me,
though you don't believe it,' declared Sarah.
'I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to laugh; but the picture of you
surrounded by stuffy carpets did amuse me so. But one thing I don't
believe, and that is that you really hate being rich,' persisted Horatia.
'You mean that I tell untruths?' replied Sarah.
'No, I don't; I mean that you wouldn't really like to be poor. I don't
believe you'd even like to have so little money as we have, though it's
plenty for us; and as for being really poor, I'd just like to see you try
it. At least, I just wouldn't, because I'd hate to see you miserable, and
you would be miserable with no money and no one bowing down before you
and getting you what you want before you asked for it, and everything.'
'Well, I've a kind of idea that you will have a chance of seeing who is
right, you or I, one of these days,' was Sarah's answer.
'I wish you'd tell me why you say that, Sarah--I do really,' said
Horatia.
To say what she really felt was impossible to Sarah, for at the bottom of
her hatred of her riches was the feeling that they had been unjustly, if
not dishonourably, obtained, and that other people knew it and despised
them for it, and this was gall and wormwood to a girl of her proud
spirit.
'How can I possibly tell you why any idea comes into my head any more
than I can tell you why I think it's going to rain to-night in spite of
its being so lovely just now?' demanded Sarah.
'That's quite a different thing. There's a west wind blowing, and it
feels like rain,' said Horatia; 'there's a reason for that.'
'Very well; there's a feeling in the air as if the home of Clay were
going to fall,' retorted Sarah.
'Then there must be some reason for it; and if you know it I think you
ought to try and prevent it for your mother's sake, even if you would
like it to fall,' said Horatia.
'You think girls can do anything, but you are wrong; they can't, and I
don't know any reason why it should fall, and I dare say it's all
imagination. Why does it interest you so much?' asked Sarah.
'Sarah, tell me, why won't Naomi's sister come near Balmoral?' asked
Horatia abruptly.
'Because she hates my father. Every one isn't so fond of him as you are,'
said Sarah.
'Why does she hate him? Doesn't she work in his mills?' Horatia inquired.
'Yes, that's one of the reasons. Besides, her young man was a hand, and
was turned off. Father is not popular with his hands,' said Sarah
sarcastically.
'Are you?' demanded Horatia, turning upon her.
Sarah did not answer for a minute, for the question took her aback; then
she laughed. 'No, I don't fancy I am. They think me proud, and I suppose
I am, though goodness knows what I have to be proud of,' she said.
'You might be proud of being so pretty, but I know you are not,' said
Horatia. 'I don't see why that girl should hate your father.'
'And I don't see why you should like him,' returned Sarah.
'I know you don't, and I am sorry for it and for lots of things; but it's
no good worrying about them when we are out on a picnic, especially as I
am starving of hunger, as you say here, and I see Tom Fox waving the flag
to show that lunch is ready.'
The millionaire was in the best of humours, paying his wife attention,
telling Tom Fox playfully to be sure and have a good lunch, and see that
his horse had one too! and joking with Mr Howroyd and Horatia, and with
Sarah when she gave him a chance.
'Have you got right yet?' inquired her uncle after lunch, as they were
preparing to go back.
'Not right enough to change places with any one; but they were better
to-day, I must say.'
'Oh, were they? How very condescending you are! Upon my word, Sarah, you
want taking down a peg badly,' said her uncle, who, however, took his old
place beside his niece.