There had been a few words at Joe Banks's plainly-furnished home when he
returned the previous night.
Everything looked very snug--the plain, simple furniture shone in the
lamplight, and a cosy meal was prepared, with Mrs Banks--a Daisy of a
very ripened nature--sitting busily at work.
"Well, moother," said Banks, as he entered and threw himself into a
chair.
"Well, Joe," said Mrs Banks, without looking up.
"Phee-ew!" whistled Joe, softly, as he took up the pipe laid ready
beside the old, grey, battered, leaden tobacco-box, filled the bowl, and
lit up before speaking again, Mrs Banks meanwhile making a cup of tea
for him to have with his supper.
"Why didn't you come home to tea, Joe--didn't you know there was some
pig cheer?"
"Bit of a row up at the works. Didn't you know?"
"Bless us and save us, no!" cried Mrs Banks, nearly dropping the
teapot, and hurrying to her husband's side. "You're not hurt, Joe?"
"Not a bit, lass. Give us a buss."
Mrs Banks submitted ungraciously to a salute being placed upon her
comely cheek, and then, satisfied that no one was hurt, she proceeded to
fill up the pot, and resumed her taciturn behaviour.
"Owd woman's a bit popped," said Joe to himself. Then aloud, "Wheer's
Daisy?"
"That's what I want to know," said Mrs Banks, tartly. "Wheer's Daisy?
There's no keeping the girl at home now-a-days, gadding about."
"Is she up at the House?" said Joe. "I suppose so," said Mrs Banks;
"and, mark my words, Joe, no good 'll come of it. It's your doing,
mind."
"Nonsense, nonsense, old woman. What's put you out? Come, let's have
some supper; I'm 'bout pined."
"Then begin," said Mrs Banks. "Not wi'out you, my lass," said Joe,
winking at the great broad-faced clock, as much as to say, "That'll
bring her round."
"I don't want any supper," said Mrs Banks. "More don't I, then," said
Joe, with a sigh; and he got up, took off his coat, and then began to
unlace his stout boots.
"Bless and save the man! wheer are you going?" exclaimed Mrs Banks.
"Bed," said Joe, shortly. "Tired out."
"What's the use o' me having sausages cooked and hot ready for you if
you go on that a way, Joe?"
"I can't eat sausages wi'out a smile wi' 'em for gravy," said Joe,
quietly, "and some one to eat one too."
"There, sit down," said Mrs Banks, pushing her lord roughly into his
well polished Windsor chair. "I don't know what's come to the man."
"Come home straange and hungry," said Joe, smiling; and the next minute,
on Mrs Banks producing a steaming dish of home-made sausages from the
oven, Joe began a tremendous onslaught upon them, after helping his
wife, and putting a couple of the best on a plate.
"Just put them i' the oven to keep hot for Daisy, wilt ta, my lass?"
said Joe.
"She won't want any supper," said Mrs Banks, tartly, but she placed the
plate in the oven all the same, and after pouring out some tea, set the
teapot on the hob.
"But she may, my lass, she may," said Joe. "Now, tell us what's wrong,"
he continued, with his mouth full, after pouring a large steaming cup of
tea down his capacious throat.
"Tom Podmore's been here," said Mrs Banks. "Only just gone. Didn't
you meet him?"
"No," said Joe. "Didn't he say nowt about the row?"
"Not a word," said Mrs Banks, looking up. "Was he in it?"
"Just was," said Joe. "Saved me and the Maister from being knocked to
pieces a'most. He's a good plucky chap, is Tom."
"Yes, and nicely he gets treated for it," said Mrs Banks, hotly.
"Who treats him nicely?" said Joe, with half a slice of bread and butter
disappearing.
"You--Daisy--everybody."
"Self included, my lass!" said Joe. "He allus was a favourite of
yours."
"Favourite, indeed!" said Mrs Banks. "Joe, mark my words--It'll come
home to Daisy for jilting him as she's done; and, as I told him
to-night, he's a great stupid ghipes to mind anything about the wicked,
deceitful girl."
"Here, have some more sausage, mother; it's splendid; and don't get
running down your own flesh and blood."
"Own flesh and blood!" cried Mrs Banks. "I'm ashamed of her."
"No, you're not, lass," said Joe, with a broad grin. "Thou'rt as proud
of her as a she peacock wi' two tails. Now, lookye here, lass; you've
took quite on that Daisy should have Tom. Well, he's a decent young
fellow enew, and if she'd liked him I should ha' said nowt against it,
but then she didn't."
"She don't know her own mind," said Mrs Banks.
"Oh yes, she do," said Joe, smiling, "quite well; and so does some one
else. The Missus has fun' it out."
"Mrs Glaire?"
"Yes, the Missus. She sent for me to-day to speak to me about it."
"What, about her boy coming after our Daisy?"
"About Mr Richard Glaire, maister o' Doomford Foundry, taking a fancy
to, and having matrimonial projects with regard to his foreman's
daughter," said Joe, pompously.
"Well!" exclaimed Mrs Banks, eagerly; "and does she like it?"
"Well--er--er--er--she's about for and again it," said Joe, slowly.
"Now that won't do, Joe," exclaimed Mrs Banks. "You can't deceive me,
and I'm not going to be put aside in that way. I know as well as if I'd
ha' been theer that she said she didn't like."
"Well, what does it matter about what the women think? Dick--I mean
Maister Richard Glaire's hard after her."
"And means to marry her?" said Mrs Banks.
"Marry her? Of course. Didn't Baxter, of Churley, marry Jane Kemp?
Didn't Bill Bradby, as was wuth fifty thousand, marry Polly Robinson of
Toddlethorpe, and make a real lady of her, and she wasn't fit to stand
within ten yards o' my Daisy."
"Yes, go on," said Mrs Banks. "That's your pride."
"Pride be blowed, it's only a difference in money. Richard Glaire's
only my old fellow-workman's son, and Daisy's my daughter, and I can buy
her as many silk frocks, and as many watches, and chains, and rings as
any lady in the land need have," said Joe, angrily, as he slapped his
pocket. "I ain't gone on saving for twenty years for nowt. She shan't
disgrace him when they're married."
"Yes, Joe, that's your pride," said Mrs Banks.
"Go it," said Joe, angrily, "tant away--tant--tant--tant. I don't
keer."
"It's your pride, that's what it is. When she might marry a decent,
honest, true-hearted lad like Tom, who's worth fifty Richard Glaires--an
insignificant, stuck-up dandy."
"Don't you abuse him whose bread you eat," said Joe.
"I don't," said Mrs Banks. "It's his mother's and not his. I believe
he soon wouldn't have a bit for himself, if it wasn't for you keeping
his business together. Always sporting and gambling, and fooling away
his money."
"Well, if I keep it together, it's for our bairn, isn't it?" said Joe.
"And he's no better than he should be."
"You let him alone," said Joe, stoutly. "All young men are a bit wild
'fore they're married. I was for one."
"It's a big story, Joe," said Mrs Banks, indignantly. "You wasn't, or
I shouldn't ha' had you."
Joe winked at the clock again, and laughed a little inside as he
unbuttoned another button of his vest--the second beginning at the top--
to keep count how many cups of tea he had had.
"It's my opinion," said Mrs Banks, "that--"
"Howd thee tongue, wilt ta?" cried Joe. "Here's the lass."
Daisy entered as he spoke, looking very pale and anxious-eyed, hastened
through the kitchen, and went upstairs to take off her hat and jacket.
"Just you make haste down, miss," said Mrs Banks, tartly.
"I don't want any supper, mother," said the girl, hurriedly.
"Then I want thee to ha'e some!" exclaimed Mrs Banks; "so look sharp."
Daisy gave a sigh and hurried upstairs, and, as the door closed, Joe
brought his hand down on the table with a thump that made the cups and
saucers dance.
"Now, look here, old woman--that's my bairn, and I wean't have her
wherrited. If she is--"
"I'm going to say what's on my mind, Joe, when it's for my child's
good," said Mrs Banks, stoutly.
"Are you?" said Joe, taking another cup of tea and undoing another
button; "then so am I. Lookye here, my lass! I wouldn't ha' took a
step to throw Daisy in young Maister's way, but as he's took to her,
why, I wean't ha' it interfered wi'--so now, then."
"Don't blame me, then, Joe; that's all," said Mrs Banks.
"Who's going to?" said Joe. "So now let's have none of your clat."
Daisy came in then, and took her place at the table, making a very sorry
pretence at eating, and only speaking in monosyllables till her mother
pressed her.
"Did Mrs Glaire send you home with anybody?"
"No, mother."
"Did you come home alone?"
"No, mother."
"Humph: who came with you?"
"Tom, mother."
Mrs Banks looked mollified, and Joe surprised.
"Has Miss Eve been playing to you, to-night?"
"No, mother."
"What have you been doing then?"
"I--I--haven't been at the House," stammered Daisy.
Joe turned sharply round.
"Have you been a-walking with Tom, then?"
"No, mother, I only met him--coming home--and he walked beside me," said
the girl, with crimson cheeks.
"Theer, theer, theer," said Joe, interposing, "let the bairn alone.
Daisy, my lass, mak' me a round o' toast."
How Joe was going to dispose of a round of toast after the meal he had
already devoured was a problem; but Daisy darted a grateful look at him,
made the toast--which was not eaten--and then, after the things were
cleared away, read for an hour to her father, straight up and down the
columns of the week-old county paper, till it was time for bed, without
a single interruption.
But Mrs Banks made up for it when they went to bed, and the last words
Joe heard before going to sleep were--
"Well, Joe, I wash my hands of the affair. It's your doing, and she's
your own bairn."
And Joe Banks went to sleep, and dreamed of seeing himself in a new suit
of clothes, throwing an old shoe after Daisy as she was being carried
off by Richard Glaire in a carriage drawn by four grey horses, the
excitement being such that he awoke himself in the act of crying
"Hooray!" while poor Daisy was kneeling by her bedside, sobbing as
though she would break her heart.
Volume 1, Chapter XIV.