AN AFFAIR OF PARTNERSHIP
"It seems to me," said Matilda, "that Rosemary is getting more and
more spoilt every day. Why don't you keep her more to her lessons?"
"She is getting beyond them," said Bobby thoughtfully. "It would be
the holidays in any case now. But, you know, she will be eighteen in
January."
"Oh, you needn't remind me of that!" said Matilda pettishly. "I'm
sure I don't care how old or how young she is so long as she behaves
herself. But she never does nowadays. She is always rude and
off-hand. I can't think why you don't keep her in better order."
"Don't you think," said Bobby gently, "that she has a right to grow
up?"
Matilda made an impatient sound. "You are always on her side and
ready to make excuses for her. I don't dispute her right to grow up.
I only wish she would do it quickly and cease to behave like a spoilt
child. I am always wondering what mad thing she will do next. The
present craze seems to be to run after Percy Hudson at every possible
moment. I can't think why you allow it."
"She needs young companionship," said Bobby, bending her flushed face
over her ironing. "I do not think I ought to deprive her of it."
"You have changed your views lately, then," commented Matilda, "for
you used to be much more particular."
Bobby said nothing. It had always been impossible to argue with
Matilda. Moreover, what she said was not without reason. She had
made repeated efforts in the past to curb the child which of late she
had allowed to lapse. To tell Matilda that this had been due to
advice from Silas Hickory was out of the question. Therefore she
remained silent.
"I suppose you know that she has gone off to the meet at Ravencombe
with Percy Hudson and his friend?" pursued Matilda, not to be
discouraged.
Bobby glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. "Yes, I know," she
said. "She took some lunch with her. I expect she will be back
before long."
"It wouldn't surprise me in the least if she ran off one of these
days and did not come back," remarked Matilda.
Bobby turned upon her with a flash of unwonted anger. "You have no
right whatever to suggest such a thing as that! She is far too open
and candid to be capable of it. And thank heaven that she is!"
"Dear me!" said Matilda with a brief laugh. "I should have thought
that I had every justification for expressing an opinion. I really
don't see how you can claim to know her better than I do. In fact I
should imagine that I am a far more impartial judge of her character.
For you have always made an idol of her, and I--have not."
Bobby returned to her ironing with compressed lips. Matilda had been
even more exasperating than usual of late, but she always blamed
herself for being exasperated. For, after all, Matilda's opinion did
not really count with anyone. Even when apparently, as now, she got
the better of an argument, it did not signify in the least. She
carried no weight. It was almost absurd to be angry with anyone who
could never be anything but peevish in return.
Also, it was not in Bobby's sunny nature to be angry for long, and
presently she was smiling again and talking of the forthcoming
Rummage Sale at the Parish Room at which she had rashly promised to
assist.
"I think you are very foolish to go," said Matilda. "You always say
you are so pressed for time."
"Cox will have to lend a hand," said Bobby serenely. "I really
couldn't miss the Rummage Sale. It's the most amusing event of the
year."
"Then you are very easily amused, that's all I can say," observed
Matilda.
She retired with the words into the parlour and pushed the door
behind her to indicate that she was not in the mood for further
conversation. A faint sigh of relief escaped Bobby, but she
continued her task without looking up. It was quite true that time
was short.
Her thoughts turned, as often, to Rosemary, and a sigh of a different
nature escaped her. Was she going to the other extreme and allowing
the child too much liberty? She wished there were someone to
consult, and as if in answer to the wish there came the tread of
heavy boots past the window and she looked up and saw Silas Hickory.
She could not check the quick sense of pleasure that arose within her
at the sight of him. He did not come as often now as formerly, and
never without a very sufficient reason, but his attitude towards her
had undergone no apparent change. He was what he had declared he
would be--a friend upon whom she could count.
She went swiftly to the back-door to meet him, and intercepted him in
the act of passing.
"Why aren't you coming in?" she said.
He stopped short and his hand went to his cap. His smile sent a glow
through her that surprised and even faintly disconcerted her.
"I just came round to see Cox about the red cow's calf," he said.
"Is he anywhere about?"
"You can see me instead," said Bobby with an answering smile.
He came straight to her without delay. "Busy as usual!" he said, as
he entered.
"Yes, ironing," said Bobby. "I don't often iron on a Saturday, but I
got behind this week on account of poor old Mrs. Everett. I am
afraid she won't live very long."
"And you go to see her?" said Silas.
"When I can," she answered. "There is so little one can do."
"Little!" He echoed the word on a note almost of indignation. "When
you spend your whole life working for other people!"
"Oh, don't!" said Bobby. "I never do anything I don't want to."
"To be sure! I forgot that," said Silas.
The quiet but decided shutting of the door that communicated with the
parlour attracted his attention and he glanced towards it and back to
Bobby.
"Sit down!" she said, ignoring it. "I am just finishing."
But Silas remained on his feet. "I can't sit down while you work,"
he said. "Can't you give me something to do?"
She bent again to her ironing, pushing the soft hair back from her
hot forehead. "Life is very difficult, Silas," she said.
It was the first time she had ever addressed him by his Christian
name, but he accepted it with absolute simplicity. It was part of
the _rôle_ he had assigned to himself.
"What's troubling you?" he asked after a moment.
She replied without looking up. "I took your advice about Rosemary,
but I am not sure that letting her run wild is a good thing. There
is so little young companionship for her here."
"What does she want more than you?" said Silas.
She uttered a sad little laugh. "Heaps and heaps of things. And I
am not really young. When I was her age, I had lots of gaiety. Poor
little Rosemary never has any. She hasn't even got a girl friend."
"She's got you," maintained Silas stubbornly.
"I am getting old," said Bobby.
"How dare you say that?" said Silas.
She sent him a quick glance and turned away to change her iron in
silence.
He watched her rather aggressively for a space, then spoke abruptly,
on a different note. "You've no right to be getting old. It's only
care that makes you so. Look here! I've been thinking
lately,--thinking a lot. I'm not going back over old ground. That's
finished. But I want to know--want very much to know--if you'd
consider another proposition with me. It's a scheme that I've often
thought might be worked with advantage between farmers in this
country. As things now are, the small ones nearly always go to the
wall. And it's mighty hard that it should be so, for in my opinion
they needn't,--not, that is, if they are prepared to work half as
hard as you do."
"I like work," said Bobby.
"I know you do. That's what makes you so fine. But overworking--"
Silas spoke forcibly--"overworking means destruction sooner or later.
You like running your own show. You like to be independent. So do
I. But, you may take it from me, a one-horse show in farming is a
big risk. It may answer for a time, but not for ever. And then if a
run of bad luck comes, you're dished. You've no reserve. And you
can't prevent bad luck either. It just comes."
"What a depressing thought!" said Bobby.
"It's a maddening thought," said Silas, "but you can't get away from
it. Bad luck doesn't always stick to those who deserve it."
"It's no good looking on the dark side," said Bobby.
"It's no good refusing to face the inevitable either," retorted
Silas. "There's a limit to everything, especially when you work
beyond your strength. It may take some years to reach it, but it
will be reached some day. Who's going to look after this show when
you're finished? Tell me that!"
"I'm not looking so far ahead as that," said Bobby resolutely.
"You ought to look ahead," he said. "Anyone with responsibilities
ought to look ahead. What were you telling me just now? That
Rosemary was getting beyond you. And why, I should like to know?
Simply because you haven't the time to look after her."
"It's no good saying that," said Bobby.
"No good!" He caught her up almost angrily. "If it isn't going to
make any difference, I agree with you, it's waste of time talking.
But if it is,----"
"Well, but how can it?" said Bobby.
She spoke rather wearily. It had been a tiring day, and though she
was pleased to see Silas, she was not prepared for a battle of wills.
He was inclined to be somewhat overwhelming when once he had set
himself to the task of quelling objections.
He heard the note of wistfulness in her voice, and his manner
changed. "I really didn't mean to start on this subject," he said.
"You're very tired, and perhaps it isn't the time. Let's talk it
over another day!"
But a spirit of perversity moved Bobby to refuse the respite. "I
hate putting off the evil hour," she said. "I think I'd better hear
it now."
"So that you can sleep on it and turn it down in the morning!"
observed Silas, with grim humour. "Well, you shall if you want to.
My suggestion is simply this. I have made a good thing of my farm as
my father did before me. You have so far made a good thing of yours.
Why can't we enter into partnership together? It's been one concern
before. It could be made so again, and it would be a mutual benefit."
"Oh!" said Bobby, turning very red. She paused with her iron
uplifted, and stared at him. "What--what an extraordinary idea!" she
said.
"It isn't a bit extraordinary," declared Silas. "I've had it in my
mind for some time. I'm interested in Little Staple, always have
been."
"You want to buy us out!" she said quickly.
"Now don't!" said Silas. "I don't want to do anything of the sort,
or I shouldn't have suggested partnership to you. That's not logic,
is it?"
She set down her iron. "No, I'm not very logical," she said.
"But--it is rather a surprising idea, isn't it? You knew I wasn't
expecting it."
"Oh yes, I knew that," said Silas, with a smile. "But now I've put
it to you, will you think it over? It would have to be put on a
strictly business footing of course. There's a lawyer over at Bode
who could see to that. But there's no hurry. Take time to decide!
All I ask is that you will try to realize exactly what it would mean
before you begin to refuse."
"I know already," said Bobby.
Again she pushed back the hair from her damp forehead, and there was
something oddly pathetic in the gesture. But she said no more though
her silence also had its appeal.
"No, you don't know," said Silas. "If you think you do, you're
simply jumping to conclusions. I'm not suggesting anything that can
in any way offend your pride or your love of independence. I honour
you far too much. If you were a bad manager, I shouldn't think of
it. I loathe bad management. And you needn't think I'd try to make
it a stepping-stone to matrimony either. I'm not that sort of man
any more than you're that sort of woman." He paused.
"Thank you," murmured Bobby faintly.
He continued. "It would be an absolute business arrangement from
every point of view. The two farms would amalgamate, that's all.
You would be the junior partner. I should be the senior. The stock
would become all one, and we should run it together. The same with
the hands. Your man Cox would go in with Brant and the rest. Are
you getting the idea?"
Bobby was standing at the end of the table, looking at him. Her
flushed face showed no signs of distress, but her eyes had a
steadfastness that seemed in some remote sense to hold him away from
her.
"Yes," she said slowly, "I'm beginning to see. But--if you want a
partner--why not Peter?"
"Peter!" said Silas. "Peter's in my employ. I should never make a
partner of Peter."
"He would probably be of much more use to you," said Bobby.
"You don't understand the position," said Silas. "Probably Peter
could explain better than I can."
"Oh, I know he is not your equal," she said. "But--from a business
point of view at any rate--neither am I. And it is the business
point of view that we are considering, isn't it?"
"It is," said Silas. "I have already said that if you were a bad
manager I shouldn't think of it. And I mean that. You are a good
manager, and an arrangement of this sort ought to appeal to you,
because it would give you opportunities that you don't now possess.
It would also give you something you're badly in need of--more
leisure."
"Ah!" said Bobby, in the tone of one who has arrived at the kernel of
things.
"Yes, just so," said Silas. "But will you please remember that in
saying that, I am trying to safeguard my interests as well as yours?
It isn't to my interest to let Little Staple turn out a failure."
"A failure!" Bobby opened her eyes in swift protest.
But Silas refused to be impressed. "Yes, a failure." He repeated
the word doggedly. "Oh, I know you'd kill yourself first. But
there's no point in killing yourself, and it isn't fair to other
people. It isn't a failure, but it isn't a roaring success, and it
can be, it ought to be, if we work it together. One-horse shows
don't answer nowadays. There's too much hustle required. And you're
always talking about stock. You'd like to go in for stock with me,
wouldn't you?"
He had struck the right note. Her eyes kindled in spite of her.
"I thought so!" he said, sternly exultant. "Well, can't you see what
a show we could make of it? Your share would only be a small one at
first, but it'd grow--in the natural course of things; you couldn't
prevent it. And think what that'd mean to those dependent on you!
To yourself too! You'd be able to afford a holiday now and then and
look after the child and give her a few treats. Doesn't that appeal
to you?"
"Oh, I mustn't let it," said Bobby, turning away to the fire.
"You can't help it," said Silas. "You know you'd love the farm a
thousand times more if it didn't mean such drudgery. The balance of
work would have to be readjusted. I for instance--I detest accounts.
And I know you are good at 'em. I should hand all that part over to
you."
"You always pretended you liked them," murmured Bobby, testing an
iron near her cheek.
Silas took no notice. "And another thing I want is to build some
more sheds along the lane here," he proceeded. "That's your ground,
and I couldn't do it as things are at present. But when we are
partners----"
"Oh, but we're not yet!" said Bobby.
"No, not yet." He conceded the point with his sudden smile. "You've
got to sleep on it first I know. But there's one thing I promise
you, Miss Roberta, and I'll write it down in my heart's blood if you
like. If this deal goes through, you and I will never quarrel."
"Oh, don't do anything so conclusive as that!" said Bobby. "I'm not
at all easy to get on with. You see, I always get my own way here."
"And you'll always continue to get it," said Silas with finality.
"I'll write that instead, shall I?"
She made a gesture of remonstrance. "No, please! I expect I shall
refuse when I've thought it over. In fact, I'm nearly sure I shall,
though you mustn't think I'm not tremendously grateful to you, for I
am."
"I'm nearly sure you will too," said Silas. "But there are always
second thoughts. I shall count on them."
She smiled a little. "How persistent you are!"
"It's the only way to get what you want," said Silas.