"I shall have to do something about these people," said the vicar, as he
descended, after making a hasty toilet.
His way out lay through the room appropriated by the objects of his
thoughts, and on opening the door it was to find Mr Simeon Slee's
toilet still in progress. In fact, that gentleman was seated in a
chair, holding a tin bowl of water, and his wife was washing his face
for him, as if he were a child.
They took no notice of the interruption, and the vicar passed through,
intending to take a long walk, but he checked his steps at the gate,
where he stood looking down the long street, that seemed a little
brighter in the early morning.
He had not been there five minutes before he saw a sodden-looking man
come out of the large inn--the Bull and Cucumber--and as the pale,
sodden-looking man involuntarily wiped his mouth with the back of his
hand, the vicar nodded.
"Morning drain, eh? I'm afraid yours is not a very comfortable home, my
friend."
The man was going slowly down the street when his eye caught the figure
of the vicar, and he immediately turned and came towards him, and
touched his hat.
"Mr Selwood, sir?"
"That is my name, my man."
"I'm Budd, sir--J. Budd--the clerk, sir. Thowt I'd come and ask if
you'd like the garden done, sir. I'm _the_ gardener here, sir. Four
days a week at Mr Glaire's. Your garden, sir--"
"Would have looked better, Budd, if, out of respect to the church and
the new vicar, you had kept it in order."
"Yes, sir; exackly, sir; but I was too busy, sir. Shall I come, sir?"
"Yes, you may come, Budd. By the way, do you always have a glass before
breakfast?"
"Beg pardon, sir--a glass?"
"Yes, at the Bull?"
"Never, sir," said Budd, with an injured air. "I went in to take Mr
Robinson's peck."
"Peck of what? pease?"
"Peck, sir--peck-axe--maddick."
"Oh, I see," said the vicar, looking at the man so that he winced.
"Well, Budd, come and see to the garden after breakfast."
"That I will, sir."
"And, by the way, Budd."
"Yes, sir."
"Don't wipe your mouth when you have been to return picks or mattocks.
I'm rather a hard, matter-of-fact person, and it makes me think a man
has been drinking."
Jacky Budd touched his hat without a word, stuck one thumb into his
arm-hole, and went off to inform the next person he met that "new
parson" was a tartar and a teetotaler.
By this time Simeon Slee had gone off in another direction, and as the
vicar was busy with his pocket-knife, pruning some trailing branches
from the front windows, Mrs Slee came to announce that his breakfast
was ready, and soon after relieved him of a difficulty.
"Going, eh, Mrs Slee? When?"
"I thowt we'd flit to-day, sir. We only came in to take charge of the
house."
"Have you a place to go to?"
"Yes, sir."
"Humph! Well, it's best, perhaps, Mrs Slee, for I am a frank man, and
I don't think your husband and I would agree. You couldn't come and
keep me right till I've got a housekeeper, I suppose?"
Mrs Slee could, and said she would; and that morning Jacky Budd helped
the poor woman to "flit" her things to a neighbouring cottage, Simeon
vowing that he'd "never set foot in the brutal priest's house again."
"You're well shut of a bad lot, sir," said Jacky Budd, turning to Mr
Selwood, after the last items of the Slee impedimenta were off the
premises, and he had looked round the wilderness of a garden, sighed,
and wondered how he should ever get it in order.
"Think so, Budd?" said the vicar, drily.
"Yes, sir, I do," said Jacky, resting on the spade he had not yet begun
to use; "he's a Ranter, is Slee, a Primity Methody, sir--a fellow as
sets up against our Church--helps keep the opposition shop, and supplies
small-beer instead of our sacrymental wine."
Jacky involuntarily smacked his lips as he spoke, and the vicar turned
sharply upon him with knit and angry brows.
But Jacky Budd was obtuse, and saw it not, but went on, wiping his
forehead the while, as if he were panting and hot with his exertions.
"They had him down on the plan, sir; they did, 'pon my word of honour,
sir--him, a regular shack, as never does a day's work if he can help it.
He was a local preacher, and put on a white 'ankercher o' Sundays, and
went over to Churley, and Raiby, and Beddlethorpe, and Mardby, and the
rest of 'em, he did. It's as good as a play, sir, to hear him 'preach.
But they've 'bout fun' him out now."
"You have been to hear him, then, Budd?" said the vicar, drily.
"Me? Been to hear he? Me, sir--the clerk of the parish? No, sir; I
never be-meaned myself by going into one of their chapels, I can assure
you," said Jacky, indignantly; and raising his spade, he chopped down a
couple of unorthodox weeds growing up within the sacred borders of the
vicarage garden.
"I'm glad to hear it, Budd," said Mr Selwood, looking at him curiously;
"and now I think as you've begun, we'll go on with the gardening."
"To be sure, sir--to be sure," said Jacky, looking round and sighing at
the broad expanse of work; "but if I might be so bold, sir, I should
say, Don't you have nowt to do wi' that chap Slee. He's a regular
Shimei, sir--a man as curses and heaves stones at our holy Church, sir--
a man as comes in the night, and sows tares and weeds amongst our
wheat."
"Exactly, Budd," said the vicar, looking him full in the face; "but now
suppose we sink the metaphorical and take to the literal. There are
tares and weeds enough here: so suppose you root them out of the
garden."
"Yes, sir, of course, sir; I was just going to," said Jacky. "It's a
lovely garden when it's in good order. I suppose you wouldn't like me
to get Thad Warmouth and one of the Searbys to come and help me--
labouring chaps, sir, and very strong?"
"No, Budd, I really should not," said the vicar; "and besides, it would
be depriving you of a good deal of work. What three men would do in two
days will last one man six."
"Exactly, sir--thanky, sir; it's very thowtful of you," said Jacky,
sighing, and looking as if he would be willing to be deprived of a good
deal of work; and then he began to chop at the ground very softly, as
if, knowing that it was his mother earth, he was unwilling to hurt it.
"I'm fond of gardening myself, Budd; it's good, healthy work, and I dare
say I shall help you a great deal. Excuse me; lend me that spade a
moment. I think it would be as well to drive it right in like this--it
will save further trouble; this wild convolvulus takes such a strong
hold of the soil."
He took the tool and dug for a few minutes lustily, stooping down after
each newly-turned spadeful to pick up and remove the long, white
trailing roots that matted it together, horrifying Jacky, who took off
his hat and wiped his dewy forehead, for it made him perspire freely to
see such reckless use of muscular power.
"Thanky, sir; yes, I see," said Jacky, taking the spade again with a
sigh, and fervently wishing that he had not undertaken the job. "Hallo!
here's the Missus."
He paused, and rested his foot on the spade, as just then Mrs Glaire,
driving a little four-wheel chaise, drawn by an extremely chubby pony,
like a heavy cart-horse cut down, drew up by the vicarage gate.
The little lady was greatly agitated, though she strove hard to keep an
equable look upon her countenance, returning the vicar's salute quietly,
as he walked down to the gate; whilst such an opportunity of a respite
from the spade not being one to be neglected, Jacky Budd stuck that
implement firmly amongst the weeds, and followed closely.
"Shall I hold Prinkle, mum?" he said, going to the pony's head.
"Yes--no, Jacky, I'm not going to stay," said Mrs Glaire. "Are you at
work here, then?"
"Yes, mum."
"Mind he does work, then, Mr Selwood," she continued; "and don't let
him have any beer, for he's a terribly lazy fellow."
Jacky looked appealingly at his mistress, then smiled, and looked at the
vicar, as much as to say, "You hear her--she will have her joke."
"Is anything the matter?" said the vicar, earnestly.
"Well, yes; not much, Mr Selwood: but I am getting old and nervous, and
I thought I would ask you to come up. You seemed to have so much
influence with the men."
"Certainly I'll come up, if I can be of any use."
"Pray get in then," said Mrs Glaire, and the springs of the little
vehicle went down as the vicar stepped in, while, during the minute or
two that ensued, as Mrs Glaire drove up to the foundry, she told him
that the works had not been opened till mid-day, when it had been agreed
upon by her son--at her wish--that he would receive some of the workmen
at the counting-house, and try to make some arrangement about terms.
"I went to the works, too," she said, "not to interfere, but to try and
be ready to heal any breach that might arise. Of course I called in as
if by accident, as I was going for a drive."
"And has anything occurred?" said the vicar.
"No; but I was afraid, for Richard is very impetuous, and I thought as--
as you saw what you did yesterday--"
"My dear Mrs Glaire, pray always look upon me as an old friend, who has
your welfare and that of the people thoroughly at heart. Oh, here we
are."
His remarks were cut short by the pony turning sharply in at the great
gates, as if quite accustomed to the place, and as the men, who were
pretty thick in the yard, made way, some of them roughly saluting the
occupants of the chaise, the pony stopped of its own accord in front of
the counting-house.
The vicar sprang out and helped Mrs Glaire to alight, following her
into the building, where Richard was sitting, looking very sulky, at the
head of a table, and about a dozen of the men were present, Simeon Slee
being in the front rank.
"It's going agen my advice, Mester Richard Glaire," he was saying. "If
the men did as I advise, they'd stand out, but I'm not the man to stand
in the way of a peaceable settlement, and as you've come to your senses,
why I agree."
"I didn't agree for you to come to the works, Slee," said Richard,
sharply.
"Yes, yes, yes," chorused half-a-dozen voices; "all or none, Maister.
All or none."
"I can stand out," said Sim, loftily. "I can afford to be made a martyr
and a scapegoat, and bear the burthen. I don't want to come back to
work."
"And I don't want and don't mean to have you," said Richard, hotly. "I
sent to you all this morning, forgiving the brutal treatment I met with
yesterday--"
"Your own fault," said a voice. "Howd thee tongue, theer," said one of
the men, who seemed to take a leading part. "Bygones is bygones. You
sent for us, Maister Richard, and we've come. You says, says you, for
the sake o' peace and quiet you'd put wage where it were, and you've
done it, but it must be all or none. Fair play's fair play, ain't it,
parson?"
"Yes, yes, Richard, give way," whispered Mrs Glaire; and with an
impatient stamp of his foot Richard Glaire gave his lip a gnaw, and
exclaimed--
"There, very well; Slee can come back; but mind this, if he begins any
of his games and speech-making in the works again, he goes at once."
"Oh, I can stay away," said Slee, in an injured tone; but his
fellow-workmen held to his side, and, to Mrs Glaire's great relief, an
amicable settlement was arrived at, and the men were about to go, when
Banks, the old foreman, burst into the place in a towering passion.
"Howd hard theer," he roared, looking fiercely round. "You're a pretty
set o' cowardly shacks, you are. Do you call that a fighting fair?"
"What is it, Banks?" exclaimed Richard, starting.
"Don't make no terms wi' 'em at all, for they wean't keep to 'em, the
blackguards."
"But what is it?" cried Richard, impatiently.
"What is it? What is it, Missus Glaire? Why, I was watching here mysen
till nine o'clock, and left all safe."
"Well?" cried Richard, turning pale.
"Look here, Joe Banks," cried the man who had been speaking before;
"tak' it a bit easy, theer. None o' us ain't done nowt, ha'e we, lads?"
"No," was chorused, Sim Slee's voice being the loudest.
"Done nowt!" roared Banks, like an angry lion. "D'yer call it nowt to
steal into a man's place, and coot and carry off every band in t' whole
works?"
"Have they--have they done that, Banks?" cried Richard.
"Have they?" roared the foreman; "ask the sneaking cowards."
"No, no, we hain't," cried the leader, bringing his hand down on the
table with a thump. "It's a loi, ain't it, lads--a loi?"
"Yes," was chorused; "we ain't done nowt o' t' sort."
"Then who did it?" cried Banks; and there was a silence.
"Look here," cried Richard, who had been brought very unwillingly to
this concession by Mrs Glaire, and gladly hailed an excuse for evading
it. "Look here, Banks, are all those wheel-bands destroyed?"
"Ivery one of 'em," said Banks.
"Then I'll make no agreement," cried Richard, in a rage. "You may
strike, and I'll strike. It's my turn now--be quiet, mother, I'm master
here," he cried, as Mrs Glaire tried to check him. "I won't have my
property destroyed, and then find work for a pack of lazy, treacherous
scoundrels. There's a hundred pounds' worth of my property taken away.
Make it up, and put it back, and then perhaps I'll talk to you."
"But I tell you, Mester, it's none o' us," cried the leader.
"None of you!" sneered Richard. "Why, the bands are gone, and I'm to
give way, and pay better, and feed you and yours, and be trampled upon.
Be off, all of you; go and strike, and starve, till you come humbly on
your knees and beg for work."
"Had you not better try and find out the offender, Mr Glaire?"
interposed the vicar, who saw the men's lowering looks. "Don't punish
the innocent with the guilty."
"Well spoke, parson," cried a voice.
"You mind your own business, sir," shouted Richard. "I know how to deal
with my own workmen. You struck for wages, and you assaulted me. I'll
strike now, you cowards, for I'll lock you out. The furnaces are cold;
let them stop cold, for I'll lose thousands before I'll give in. I'll
make an example of you all."
"You'll repent this, Mester Richard Glaire," shouted Slee.
"I'll repent when I see you in gaol, you mouthing demagogue!" cried
Richard. "Now, get off my premises, all of you, for I'll hold no more
intercourse with any of the lot."
"But I tell you, Mester," said the leader, a short, honest-looking
fellow, "it's--"
"Be off, I tell you!" shouted Richard. "Where are my bands?"
The man wiped his forehead, and looked at his companions, who one and
all looked from one to another, and then, as if feeling that there was a
guilty man amongst them--one who had, as it were, cut the ground from
beneath their feet--they slowly backed out, increasing their pace
though, towards the last, as if each one was afraid of being left.
"Go after them, Banks, and see them off the premises," said Richard,
with a triumphant look in his eye. "Let's see who'll be master now."
The foreman went after the deputation, and there was a low murmuring in
the yard, but the men all went off quietly, and the great gates were
heard to clang to.
"Oh, Richard, my boy," said Mrs Glaire, "I'm afraid you've made matters
worse."
"I'll see about that," said Richard, rubbing his hands, and giving a
look askant at the vicar, who stood perfectly silent. "They'll be down
on their knees before the week's out, as soon as the cupboard begins to
be nipped. Are they all gone, Banks?"
"Yes, they're all gone," said the foreman, returning. "I wouldn't ha'
thowt it on 'em."
"Stop!" cried Richard, as a sudden idea seemed to strike him. "What
time did you go away, Joe?"
"'Bout nine."
"And all was right then?"
"That I'll sweer," said the foreman; "I went all over the works. It
must ha' been done by some cowardly sneak as had hid in the place."
"I know who it was," said Richard, with his eyes sparkling with
malicious glee.
"Know who it was?" said Banks. "Tell me, Maister Richard, and I'll
'bout break his neck."
"It was that scoundrel Tom Podmore."
"Who? Tom Podmore! Yah!" said the foreman, in a tone of disgust; and
then with a chuckle. "I dessay he'd like to gi'e you one, Maister Dick;
but go and steal the bands! It ain't in him."
"But I tell you I saw him!" cried Richard.
"Saw him? When?"
"Hanging about the works here last night between nine and ten."
"You did!" cried the foreman, eagerly.
"That I did, myself," said Richard, while the vicar scanned his eager
face so curiously that the young man winced.
Joe Banks stood thinking with knitted brow for a few moments, and then,
just as Mrs Glaire was going to interpose, he held up his hand.
"Wait a moment, Missus," he said. "Look here, Maister Richard, you said
you saw Tom Podmore hanging about the works last night?"
"I did."
"There's nobbut one place wheer a chap could ha' been likely to ha'
gotten in," said Banks, thoughtfully. "Wheer might you ha' sin him?"
"In the lane by the side."
"That's the place," said the foreman, in a disappointed tone. "That
theer window. Was he by hissen?"
"Yes, he was quite alone," said Richard, flinching under this
cross-examination.
"And what was you a-doing theer, Maister Richard, at that time?" said
the foreman, curiously.
"I--I--" faltered Richard, thoroughly taken aback by the sudden
question; "I was walking down to go into the counting-house, with a sort
of idea that I should like to see if the works were all right."
"Ho!" said the foreman, shortly; and just then the eyes of the young men
met, and it seemed to Richard that there was written in those of the
vicar the one word, "Liar!"
"Did you speak, sir?" said Richard, blanching, and then speaking hotly.
"No, Mr Glaire, I did not speak, but I will, for I should like to say
that from what I have seen of that young man Podmore, I do not think he
is one who would be guilty of such a dastardly action."
"How can you know?" said Richard, flushing up. "You only came to the
town yesterday."
"True," said the vicar; "but this young man was my guide here, and I had
some talk with him."
"I hope you did him good," said Richard, with an angry sneer.
"I hope I did, Mr Glaire," said the vicar, meaningly, "and I think I
did, for he told me something of his life, and I gave him some advice."
"Of course," from Richard.
"Richard, my son, pray remember," exclaimed Mrs Glaire.
"Oh yes, I remember, mother," cried Richard, stung with rage by the
doubting way in which his charge had been received; "but it is just as
well that Mr Selwood here should learn at once that he's not coming to
Dumford to be master, and do what he likes with people."
"It is far from my wish, Mr Glaire," said the vicar, with a bright spot
burning on each cheek, for he was young and impulsive too, but the spots
died out, and he spoke very calmly. "My desire here is to be the
counsellor and friend of both master and man--the trusty counsellor and
faithful friend. My acquaintance with this young workman Podmore was
short, but I gave him a few friendly words on his future action, and the
result was that he came and fought for his master like a man when he was
in the midst of an angry mob."
"So he did, parson, so he did," said Banks, bluntly.
"And came in a malicious, cowardly way at night to destroy my property,"
cried Richard.
"Nay, nay, lad, nay," said Banks, sturdily. "Parson's raight. Tom
Podmore ain't the lad to do such a cowardly trick, and don't you let it
be known as you said it was him."
"Let it be known!" said Richard, grinding his teeth. "Why, I'll set the
police after him, and have him transported as an example."
"Nay, nay, lad," said Banks, "wait a bit, and I'll find out who did
this. It wasn't Tom Podmore--I'll answer for that."
"Let him prove it, then--and he shall," cried Richard, who hardly
believed it himself; but it was so favourable an opportunity for having
an enemy on the hip, that he was determined, come what might, not to let
it pass.
Five minutes later the parties separated, the works were shut up, and
Richard Glaire did not reject the companionship of the vicar and the
foreman to his own door, for there were plenty of lowering faces in the
street--women's as well as men's; but the party were allowed to pass in
sullen silence, for the strikers felt that "the maister" had something
now of which to complain, and the better class of workmen were
completely taken aback by the wanton destruction of the machinery bands.
Volume 1, Chapter XIII.