IN WHICH MANIWEL LETS JAGGER INTO A SECRET
“NOT so bad for an old man, Jagger!” said Maniwel, as he passed a rag
with a few last caressing touches over the shining surface of a small
bookcase:—“I say, not so bad for an old fellow wi’ one arm! Bear in
mind, young gaffer, ’at I’ve glass-papered it, stained and polished it,
on my lonesome; and you’ve never put finger to’t. Come over here,
Baldwin, and tha shalt be t’ boss and pass t’ job!”
Jagger smiled and ungrudgingly admitted that he couldn’t have done
better work himself, but Baldwin had to be summoned a second time before
he approached.
“Does tha hear, Baldwin? I’m waiting to hear tha say it’ll do!”
The breezy, encouraging note in Maniwel’s voice brought Baldwin from the
shadows.
“It ails naught ’at I see on,” he said; “but it’s making game o’ me to
ask for my opinion, when you know better’n I do.”
There was a trace of peevishness in the reply, and he would have turned
again to his work if Maniwel had not arrested him.
“Nay, that willn’t do, Baldwin! Tha’s none going to get out o’ thi
responsibilities i’ that fashion. We’re a limited comp’ny o’ three and I
brade o’ t’ parsons i’ thinking ’at three heads is better than two. I
know there’s such things as figure-heads; but neither thee nor me is
ornimental enough for that job. Now just cast thi eye over t’ job, same
as if a ’prentice had done it and then speak thi mind.”
“There’s no sense i’ this sort o’ play-acting, Maniwel,” said Baldwin;
but he bent forward and examined the work carefully.
“Tha’s missed a piece o’ t’ underside o’ this bit o’ moulding,” he
remarked a moment or two later; “—there’s an inch or so wi’ no polish
on’t.”
Jagger shot a glance at his father and caught the wink which was
intended for him alone.
“Well, that licks all!” said Maniwel, when he had assured himself that
the criticism was just. “I wouldn’t ha’ liked Mr. Harris to ha’ picked
that out, and it’s a good job that eye o’ thine isn’t dimmed Baldwin. Is
there aught else, thinks tha?”
Baldwin found nothing else and Maniwel picked up the rag again. After a
while Baldwin left the shop and Jagger paused in his work.
“That was a bit o’ humbug: you left it on purpose for him to find. If
his brain hadn’t been softening he’d ha’ known it.”
“His brain’s right enough,” Maniwel replied “He never had more than he
could make use of, and what he had he didn’t work over hard. If it’s
softening, a bit o’ exercise’ll harden it. It’s his self-respect he’s
been letting go and I’m wanting him to get it back, or we shall be
having him on t’ coffin-board before long.”
If Jagger’s thoughts could have been read it would possibly have been
found that this prospect afforded him no great dissatisfaction, and it
was thus that his father interpreted his silence.
“There’s many a twisted bit o’ timber can be put to good use if you’ll
study how to fit it in,” he remarked. “A boss ’at’s gifted wi’
gumption’ll see ’at naught’s wasted, and turn t’ rubbish into profit.
I’m looking forward to Baldwin being a help to t’ concern.”
Jagger smiled and went on with his work, having learned by experience
that there was nothing to be gained by disputing his father’s
philosophy, but after an interval of silence he again allowed his saw to
remain suspended in mid-course.
“How much were you saying there is in t’ bank?” he inquired.
“Above two hundred pound,” replied Maniwel. “We’ve had a good friend i’
t’ squire, lad; a ready-money friend means a deal to them ’at’s short o’
brass.”
“If we’d had a better shop,” said Jagger contemplatively, “we could ha’
put in an engine before so long.”
“Aye, aye, but we must be content to creep till we find we can walk.
Steady does it, my lad! We’re doing better than like.”
Jagger’s saw went on biting into the board, but before long it was
allowed to rest again.
“What did you send Baldwin home for?”
Maniwel came forward and leaned against the bench where he could see his
son’s face and watch its expression.
“’Cause I knew you’d something you wanted to say,” he answered; “and
there was naught partic’lar for him to do. He’ll be company for
grannie.”
“Knew _I_’d something to say?” The question was intended for a denial;
but Jagger’s cheeks told another story.
“And I guessed,” continued his father calmly; “’at it had something to
do wi’ him. Out wi’t!”
“You beat all!” said Jagger in a tone that showed how admiration had
conquered discomfiture. “It’s as bad as having them X-rays you read
about i’ t’ shop! A man may think what he isn’t prepared to speak, and I
don’t know ’at I was going to say aught.”
“When there’s any bile about, whether on t’ mind or t’ stomach,” said
Maniwel dryly, “t’ best way is to get shut on’t. We shall none fall out
if you speak your mind straight about Baldwin.”
Now that the opportunity was afforded and his confidence invited it
surprised Jagger to find how little there was to say, and how difficult
it was to say that little. In the olden days he would probably have
sought refuge in surly silence; but now he looked frankly into his
father’s face and blurted out—
“Home isn’t t’ same since Baldwin came into it. He’d choke t’ song out
of a throstle with his sour looks! It isn’t ’at I grudge him bite and
sup, and he’s welcome to try to pick up a living alongside of us, but I
can’t bide a wet-blanket on our own hearthston’, and I know Hannah feels
t’ same.”
“I’m not capped, lad; I feel t’ same way myself, and if all for my-sen’
was my motto I’d pay some decent body a toathri shillings a week to take
him in and do for him—”
“If that was your motto,” interrupted Jagger, “you’d let him go to t’
Union.”
“If you and Hannah says he musn’t stop,” continued Maniwel ignoring the
correction; “course he’ll have to go, and we’ll talk it over among
ourselves and see what’s best to be done. But I’ll take to’t ’at I could
like to try a bit longer. He’s lost his nasty tongue, and his temper’s
had most o’ t’ fizz ta’en out on’t, and mebbe after a bit t’ sun’ll get
through t’ crust and he’ll be more likeable. Now if you and Hannah could
just bring yourselves to think ’at he’s a millionaire uncle ’at’s asked
himself to stay wi’ us for a bit....”—he looked slyly into his son’s
face and saw the mouth twist into a smile—“and ’at it ’ud happen pay
you to put up wi’ a bit o’ discomfort for t’ sake—”
“That’ll do, father!” Jagger was laughing now. “I doubt if Hannah and me
could manage as much as that. All we can expect Baldwin to leave us is
his room, and that’ll be welcome. But we’ll say no more about it. If you
feel t’ same way as us and are willing to put up with it Hannah and
me’ll make t’ best of it.”
“Nay, lad, we’ll go on a piece further, now we’ve getten started. You
and me’s partners and should know each other’s minds; and I’ve something
to tell you ’at I once thought to take wi’ me to t’ grave. You’ll tell
nob’dy else while either Baldwin or me’s living and after we’re gone
there’ll be no need to say aught. Sit you down, lad!”
There was an unaccustomed note of gravity in Maniwel’s voice and a
pained look in his eyes, which Jagger observed with surprise and
uneasiness, but he made no remark and seated himself on a trestle where
he could look into his father’s face.
Maniwel had hoisted himself on to the bench, and his hand played among
the loose shavings for a while before he lifted his head and spoke.
“You know what your grannie says about t’ Briggses?—a black, bad lot,
cursed wi’ meanness and low, underhanded ways. It was so wi’ Baldwin’s
father and his father before him. There wasn’t a fam’ly on t’ moor ’at
had a worse name than what they had, and it was t’ lad’s misfortun’ mind
you, not his fault, to be born into such a lot.
“Him an’ me’s of an age. We picked up a bit o’ schooling together and we
went marlocking together. I liked him as well as I liked Old Nick, but
his folks were our nearest neighbours, and there wasn’t so many lads to
laik wi’ up on t’ moor so we were forced, as you may say, to be mates.
We fell out many a time i’ t’ week, and fell in again. He took a delight
i’ torturing birds and animals, and I’ve thrashed him many a dozen times
for’t. He was awlus a coward and a sneak, and ’ud scream same as a
rabbit wi’ a weasel on its back t’ minute he was touched. He was a dull
lad at his books, barring ’at he was quick at figures same as all his
lot; but he was a rare hand at a bargain, and beat his dad at being
nippy—”
A humorous recollection brought a twinkle into Maniwel’s eyes, and he
went on—
“We were biggish lads when I got stuck i’ t’ bog one day; and a rare
mess I was in I can tell you. It wasn’t oft ’at I was flayed; but t’
sweat poured out o’ me that time, and t’ harder I struggled to get loose
t’ deeper I sunk. You may bet I hollered for Baldwin, and when he came
up he stood on t’ edge and says—‘Now, tha’s made a mullock on it! What
is it worth to help tha out? Is it worth thi new knife?’ He got t’
knife, but I leathered him his jacket while he roared for mercy when I’d
getten my strength back.”
Jagger’s face was hard and his father laughed.
“I could tell you more tales o’ t’ same sort, but that’ll do for a
sample. When t’ time come for us to leave school we were both ’prenticed
at t’ same time to Tom Clegg, and we worked side by side for many a year
as you know. Tom was a queer ’un, wi’ a heap o’ funny notions in his
noddle, but he kept a firm grip on t’ shop as long as he’d his health,
and Baldwin and me were his main hands. He liked me t’ best o’ t’ two, I
know; but he saw how keen Baldwin was, and he thought he got more work
out o’ t’ men than what I did. Happen he did, for he was awlus a driver,
and as long as he could squeeze a bit more brass out o’ Tom for his-self
he was ready enough to squeeze a bit more work out o’ t’ men.
“Well, Tom was ta’en badly as you know, and when he couldn’t get t’
price he wanted for his business he let on that scheme ’at put it i’ t’
long run into Baldwin’s hands. It’s trewth I’m telling you when I say
’at he’d made dead certain ’at I should get it, for he knew I’d a better
headpiece than Baldwin; but he reckoned to want what he called
‘fairation’ so he gave us both the same chance.
“I’m coming now to t’ point I set out for. Baldwin did well; but I
should ha’ beaten him hand over hand if I hadn’t happened my accident,
and Baldwin saw it. That accident, lad, was planned for me——!”
Jagger uttered an exclamation of dismay and rose from his seat, with
anger flashing from his eyes. Maniwel’s voice had been quite calm and
low, and he did not raise it now.
“Sit down, lad, and keep your hand on t’ brake! Remember, what I’m
telling you now is a trust. Twelve months since you’d have been t’ last
I should ha’ spoken to, for this meat’s over strong for babes; but
you’re a man now.
“I say it was planned, and that’s all I’m going to tell you, and it’s
all you need to know. He isn’t aware ’at I fun him out, and he isn’t
going to be tell’d. He’s hugged his sin about wi’ him all these years,
and nob’dy knows but his-self what he’s suffered.”
“Suffered!” Jagger’s tone was as low as his father’s, but charged with
unbelief and contempt. “It’s _you_ that’s suffered, you and
us,—aye—and Nancy too! I could screw the dirty devil his neck round
when I look at that empty sleeve! You shouldn’t ha’ told me if you want
me to keep my hands off him!”
“When you’ve finished blowing t’ steam off I’ll go on,” said his father.
“I reckoned I should upset you a bit, and it’s naught but nat’ral, but
you must hear me out. I _know_ he’s suffered—why, he turned again’ me
from that very moment and couldn’t bide me in his sight; and though he
couldn’t fashion but take you on it must ha’ cost him summat to see you
i’ your father’s place. Them at wrote t’ Owd Book knew what they were
talking about, lad. They didn’t say ’at sin was sure to be fun out; but
‘be sure your sin’ll find _you_ out!’ and you may bet on’t ’at Baldwin’s
fun _him_ out long sin’.”
Jagger grunted, and his father smiled.
“There’s one thing ’at shames me,” he continued, “and that’s seeming to
make it out ’at I’m better than other folks. I’m no saint, as I happen
needn’t tell them ’at lives wi’ me; but I reckoned things up when I was
a young man and I come to t’ conclusion ’at there must be a better way
o’ living than most folks followed, and I said to myself ’at I’d give t’
Owd Book a fair trial and see if there was aught in it. I read there ’at
t’ best way to get on i’ t’ world was to put t’ cart before t’ horse, by
doing good to them ’at hate you and praying for them ’at despitefully
use you and persecute you. It’s a queer sort o’ teaching when you come
to think on’t, but I threshed it out i’ my mind and fun it was right.
_There’s no other way ’at pays._ That’s why I lost naught but my arm
when I happened my accident—neither my peace o’ mind nor my goodwill to
Baldwin; and that’s why you and Hannah’s had no ’casion to grumble about
wet blankets all these years. I’ve waited a long while for my revenge on
Baldwin; but you see I’ve getten it at last: ‘If thine enemy hunger,
feed him; if he thirst, give him drink’. What think you, lad?”
He raised his eyes as he asked the question, and the look on his son’s
face disappointed him. Instead of understanding there was bitterness and
resentment: the hot indignation of a loyal and straight-dealing son
against the treachery of a false friend. A smile spread slowly over the
father’s features as he saw that no reply was forthcoming.
“T’ meat’s a bit over strong, is it?” he went on. “Chew it, lad, while
you get t’ taste on’t; and just think on ’at if you’d been Baldwin’s son
i’stead o’ mine it’s a thousand to one you’d ha’ been born wi’ his
sperrit. Baldwin has no childer—him and Keturah’s t’ last o’ their
race, and it’s happen as well—but when t’ time comes ’at he has to hand
in his last time-sheet I could like to think it ’ud be a clean ’un. So
I’m for giving him a leg up, d’ye see?”
“What have you told me this story for?” Jagger asked. His father’s
calmness had affected him and he now had his feelings under control,
though he was not yet appeased. “He’s paid for all t’ dirty tricks he’s
played _me_, and I’d rubbed t’ reckoning off t’ slate; but I’m hanged if
I can forgive him that empty sleeve.”
“This empty sleeve,” said Maniwel, “is t’ price I’ve paid for t’ man.
Say no more about it—_I’m_ satisfied. I’ve tell’d you for two reasons.
One on ’em’s this: mebbe Baldwin’ll feel called on to tell you his-self
one o’ these days, and I’d like him to know ’at you knew. It ’ud help
him and it’ll save you from saying or doing aught you’d have to rue.
“But there’s another thing ’at’s weighed wi’ me: you’ve getten a worse
enemy than ever I had. Yon Inman is plotting again’ you, and you’re
plotting again’ him, and it means naught but trouble. When you’ve getten
used to t’ thought I could like you to try my plan o’ getting rid of a’
enemy.”
“Happen I will,” said Jagger grimly, “when I see him beggared same as
Baldwin.”
“If he’d ha’ let me, I’d ha’ tried to save Baldwin from beggary,”
replied his father with a calm dignity that showed he had understood the
implication.
Jagger flushed hotly. “I didn’t mean that,” he protested and Maniwel
said—“Right, lad; there’s no bones broken.”
“Then would you have me let Inman go his own way, and play any devil’s
trick he likes on us?” said Jagger, and his father shook his head.
“Nay, lad,” he said with greater animation; “watch him and best him! You
can’t please me better than by showing him you’re t’ best man o’ t’ two,
so long as you keep on t’ Straight Road. But spare him a bit o’ pity,
for hate’s same as a knife ’at lacks a haft—a tool ’at hurts him ’at
tries to stab wi’t.”
“It’s a bit too tough for my teeth, is your meat,” said Jagger.
“Then just swallow t’ juice,” said his father, as a smile spread over
his face and twinkled in his eyes; “and put t’ rest on’t out. Come lad;
we’ll go in and see how t’ blanket’s going on.”