IN WHICH BALDWIN’S SCAFFOLDING GIVES WAY AND
ALSO HIS RESERVE
“BREATHES there a man with soul so dead—?” You would have said that
even Baldwin’s dank soul must have fired as he left the Tarn road and
struck across the moor to Walker’s farm. Inman, who walked uncomfortably
beside him, accommodating his long strides to the other’s nervous steps,
felt the thrill of the morning in his veins if not in his soul and would
have liked to quicken the pace and enliven the solitude with a whistled
melody. As it was, the keen November wind was left to do the whistling,
with the long bent grass for its pipe, and it did it so tunefully that
Inman remarked upon it.
“The bag-pipes are busy this morning,” he said.
The pepper-coloured tufts on Mr. Briggs’ eyebrows almost touched, as he
turned uncomprehending eyes on his companion’s face, and the look was
easy of interpretation. Inman knew that his master thought him a fool
and was therefore prepared for the reply:
“I suppose you know what you’re talking about; I don’t.”
The tone was so cold that Inman thought it best to be silent. He
therefore shifted his bass to the other shoulder and made no further
attempt at conversation. Nine out of ten moormen are influenced more or
less consciously by the moor’s moods, and frequently reflect
them—Baldwin was the tenth man, impervious to such spiritual currents
by reason of his brass-bound soul as was horny-hided Siegfried to the
thrust of his enemies. They covered the remaining distance like mutes,
Baldwin with his eyes on the ground, and Inman sweeping the waste with a
careless glance until they reached the farm where new buildings awaited
their labour.
Inman dropped his tools and looked critically at the scaffolding.
“Did Drake fix them sticks?” he asked. “They aren’t safe.”
Baldwin’s anger blazed out immediately. The structure had been erected
since Jagger left, and his own judgment told him that it was faulty. The
poles were thinnings of sycamore which had been lying about on the farm
and had seemed good enough for the purpose, though in reality they were
much too brittle. Inman’s quick eyes had detected evidences of this; but
Baldwin was not to be instructed by a stranger. It was for him to decide
whether the erection was safe or not, and he said so in language
overcharged with emphasis, bidding Inman doff his coat and get to work
without more ado.
For a moment Inman hesitated, then without a word took off his coat,
rolled up his short sleeves and mounted the ladder. Before his master
could climb up and stand beside him he had tested the plank with his
foot and formed his conclusions, but what they were not even a movement
of his shoulders made known, and he picked up his tools and began to
work.
For a while Baldwin did little more than watch him; and though he had
schooled himself in the art of concealing his satisfaction those who
knew him would have judged by the way he at length turned to his own
task that he was well pleased with the skill and industry of his new
hand. Inman needed no instruction and no prodding. Jagger Drake himself
was not more skilful and was incomparably slower. The master had to
acknowledge to himself that no man he had ever employed had framed so
well on such short acquaintance as this mysterious newcomer from
nowhere; and he experienced a sense of relief that he was careful not to
communicate by any relaxation of tone or feature to the man whose whole
attention seemed to be centred on his work.
Inman guessed what was passing in the other’s mind; and though he
controlled his features as carefully as Baldwin himself, he was in
reality in a state of tension regarding the stability of the structure
on which they were standing; but all went well until the afternoon when
on a sudden heavy movement of the master the far pole gave way.
Inman acted with the promptitude of a man who had formed his plans long
before. Baldwin had been unable to repress a sharp exclamation of alarm
as he felt the plank incline beneath his feet, and his fingers opened
involuntarily but found nothing to clutch and he must inevitably have
fallen to the ground if the collar of his coat had not been seized in a
strong grip.
“I have you! Keep still!” Inman’s calm voice said; and Baldwin felt
himself being swayed towards the near pole which was still standing.
Inman’s strength was marvellous. He was grasping the newly-erected
water-duct with his left hand and resting his feet against the sloping
board. The dead weight of Baldwin’s body caused the sharp edge of the
woodwork to cut deep into the flesh but he was scarcely conscious of
pain as he swung his master towards the pole.
“Get your legs round it,” he said.
The noise of the fallen ladder and scaffolding had brought out the
inmates of the farm and Baldwin was helped to the ground, whereupon
Inman lowered himself down without assistance, and Baldwin caught sight
of the bleeding hand.
“Best have that bathed and bandaged,” he said; and the women took him
indoors.
Work for that day was finished, and the two men by and by walked back
together, Inman’s damaged hand hidden in the pocket of his coat. They
had gone some distance before Baldwin spoke, and the gruff words came
reluctantly as if pushed from behind by some more generous prompter.
“It might ha’ been a nasty fall if you hadn’t grabbed my coat. I’ll say
one thing for you—you’ve nerve and strength.”
Inman, who was thinking in his heart that he would as soon have wrung
the miserable old fellow’s neck, replied carelessly that he was glad
that he had saved him from accident and that it would be as well if he
was allowed to see to the scaffolding in future.
This reminder brought a scowl on to the master’s face and a harder note
into his voice.
“If Jagger’d ha’ been there—but Abe Thompson’s feet aren’t big enough
for Jagger’s shoes. It was him ’at said there was tackling enough on t’
spot without sending any up. Did I read i’ yon papers o’ yours ’at
you’ve had a foreman’s job?”
“I was foreman at Marshall’s for four years,” he replied. “When I left I
was under-manager.”
“Then why the devil did you seek a job with me?” Baldwin burst out.
“There’s no under-managers wanted i’ my concern, and not likely to be.
I’m not one to pay men fancy wages for walking about wi’ their hands in
their pockets. I can manage my own business, young man.”
“So I’ve observed,” Inman replied—and though there was not the
slightest inflection of sarcasm, Baldwin shot a suspicious and
half-angry glance at the man’s face. “I’m not seeking any other job but
what I’ve got.”
“You’re seeking something, or you wouldn’t have signed on with a little
man like me,” growled Baldwin. “If I’m not one o’ your smart town folk I
don’t go about wi’ my eyes full o’ sawdust, and there’s something behind
all this ’at I should be better pleased if I knew of.”
“Then I’ll tell you,” said Inman coolly. “It isn’t a thing I could
mention when I asked you to give me a job, but there’s no reason why I
should keep it secret from you now, Mr. Briggs. I met Miss Nancy when
she was staying with her uncle a week or two ago—I’ve known Mr. John
Clegg off and on since I was a lad—and I asked her to marry me. You’ll
very likely say I was over hasty; but I’m a man who knows his own mind,
and bad to shake off when I’ve set my heart on a thing. Now, you can put
two and two together.”
Baldwin’s brain worked slowly, as has been said; but it was capable of
spurts of activity, and it had been speeding about whilst Inman was
making his confession, gathering together these strange occurrences and
the thoughts they gave rise to and putting them on the scales of his
judgment to determine whether or no the weight was to his advantage.
From force of habit as well as policy the scowl deepened on his brow as
he replied:
“Putting two and two together isn’t all t’ sum. You’ve said naught about
how Nancy looks at it, and that may make a deal o’ difference.”
“Miss Nancy was taken by surprise,” Inman answered. “She wasn’t used to
my blunt ways and—well, she gave me no encouragement.”
“And though she gave you ‘No’ for an answer, you followed her here on t’
off-chance ’at she’d change her mind, if she saw more of you?”
“I usually get what I set my mind on,” Inman answered, so calmly that
Baldwin turned his eyes upon him in amazement at the note of assurance.
“She knows I shan’t plague her; if she becomes my wife it’ll be of her
own free will; and I’m willing to take my chance.”
He smiled as he completed the sentence, and the look and tone of
assurance kindled Baldwin’s wrath.
“I’ve a good mind to send you about your business,” he stormed,
peppering the declaration with the hottest words in his vocabulary.
“You’re the coolest devil I ever came across, and I’d as lief have old
Nick himself in the place. If Nancy has said ‘No’——”
Inman laid his hand on the other’s arm and spoke more sternly though
even yet with studied restraint.
“Listen, Mr. Briggs! If you sack me I shall find a job somewhere
about——”
“It won’t be wi’ Drake’s, that’s certain,” broke in Baldwin hotly,
“Jagger’ll none be keen on finding a job for a rival; and who else is
there, nearer nor Scaleber?”
“We needn’t discuss it, Mr. Briggs,” Inman replied. “I’m more likely to
want to put a spoke in Jagger Drake’s wheel than to help him to put one
in yours. You’ve seen enough to know that I can take Jagger’s place, and
you’ve nobody else that can; and seeing that I’ve promised not to molest
Miss Nancy what harm will there be in keeping me on?”
The cunningly-designed argument left Baldwin without an answer, and the
milder tone in Inman’s voice served to modify him. After all, as he said
to himself, Nancy was her own mistress and had for some time past shown
an independence of spirit that had been anything but welcome. Now that
Jagger had set up in opposition there was no reason why he should lose
the services of the one man who could help to checkmate the Drakes’
move—indeed self-interest pointed in the opposite direction. He
therefore said:
“When a man’s been Nancy’s guardian it’s naught but right he should
think of her interests. But what you say seems right enough, and I’ll
take to it ’at I could like to scotch this new scheme o’ Maniwel’s. It’s
true ’at I haven’t a man i’ t’ shop, bar, happen you, ’at can take
Jagger’s place; and you’re a man with a head on. I must think it over;
or else I had been going to say ’at I’d make you foreman.”
“That’s as you think fit,” replied Inman. “I shouldn’t care, of course,
to take my orders from anyone but you; but you must please yourself. As,
for these Drakes—two heads are better than one and naught ’ud give me
more pleasure than to scheme against ’em.”
Baldwin concentrated his thoughts on the subject, and Inman knew better
than to attempt to pursue his advantage. At length the master spoke:
“I see naught gained by sleeping on it. It’s all one to me who Nancy
marries and I’m not likely to be consulted; but it ’ud go again’ t’
grain to have her marry Jagger. That being so there’s no reason why I
should put my finger in your pie, to say naught about my owing you
something for this morning’s do. T’ foreman’s job’s waiting, and you can
have it if you’ve a mind.”
A smile crossed Inman’s lips; but Baldwin did not see it, and he was
gratified by the thanks the young man offered and even more by the brisk
inquiry that followed:
“And now, Mr. Briggs, let us turn to these Drakes. Running ’em to earth
is a sport just to my liking. I suppose they’ve no money?”
“Maniwel’ll have a bit wi’ John Clegg,” replied Baldwin, “unless he’s
had to draw it out, which I hardly think he will ha’ done. There’ll be a
toathri hundred pound there, I fancy.”
“But why with John Clegg?” inquired Inman, bending puzzled brows upon
his master.
“Well, you see,”—now that Inman was fellow-conspirator, Mr. Briggs was
willing to indulge him with an explanation—“Tom Clegg, who had t’
business before me, always banked with his brother John, and it was
through him that Maniwel and me got a chance to put our bits o’ savings
in with him. John could find use for brass in his business, and pay five
per cent., which was a deal better than t’other banks ’ud do. So I’ve
always banked with him, same as Tom did; and I feel sure Maniwel’ll have
a bit lying there.”
Inman became thoughtful, and beyond saying “I see,” made no remark for
some minutes. He was wondering how he could ascertain if Nancy’s money
was also in her uncle’s keeping without arousing suspicion of his
motives when Baldwin answered the unspoken question.
“It’s a funny thing ’at t’ only one ’at doesn’t fairly trust John is his
own niece. Nancy doesn’t believe in having all her eggs in one basket,
and them ’at’s been laid since her father died she banks i’ Keepton,
where she just gets half t’ interest her uncle ’ud pay her. But women
haven’t much business about ’em and it’s her own look-out and not mine.”
“That’s so,” Inman agreed absently. He was relieved to find that Nancy
had so much sense, and was undecided what course his own interests
should lead him to pursue in continuing the conversation.
“Can Drake get the money at short notice?” he asked.
“Nay, he’ll have to give him six months. Of course, I’ve a different
arrangement, and he sends me bankers’ drafts to pay my accounts with;
but even I couldn’t draw t’ lump out under six months, so it’s certain
Maniwel can’t.”
Again Inman was silent for a space, thinking hard.
“I don’t know but what Miss Nancy’s right,” he said with unusual
hesitation. “John Clegg isn’t a banker, though he calls himself
one—he’s a moneylender.” He looked inquiringly into Baldwin’s face but
saw no look of concern or suspicion there; and the voice was indifferent
enough that replied:
“I caren’t what he is. He went off o’ t’ moor and made his way i’ t’
town. Tom put his trust in him, and for twenty years he’s never let us
down. He calls himself a banker, and he pays five per cent. on wer
brass, and that’s good enough for me. Whether Maniwel knows he’s i’ t’
Jew line or no, I can’t say; but his brass is as safe as houses.”
A comment rose to Inman’s lips but he checked it there, and remained
silent so long that Baldwin looked up suspiciously.
“You seem to have something up your sleeve,” he said. He had surrounded
himself so long with an atmosphere of distrust that he was as sensitive
to the moods of those about him as a spider to the vibrations of its
web.
“I was wondering if there was any way of keeping the Drakes’ money
back,” he replied readily, but in a thoughtful tone. “Lack of capital’ll
hamper ’em, you see. I’ve only seen this Maniwel’s face once, but I
guess he’s not the man to plunge much. I mean he’s not likely to get far
into debt.”
“He’s t’ last i’ t’ world,” admitted Baldwin, appeased at once by this
evidence of his companion’s discrimination.
“I don’t see at this minute how it’s to be managed,” continued Inman,
“but it’ll come to me. There’s always ways and means for those who’re
prompt to handle ’em. All we’ve got to do is to bide our time, and as
you say, keep the sawdust out of our eyes.”
They had reached the shop by this time and the subject was necessarily
dropped; but Inman remained thoughtful during the remainder of the day,
and paid no attention to the rough handling the other man received, and
especially the incompetent Abe, at the hands of the master.