Sammy Craddock made his appearance at Mr. Haviland's promptly, and being
shown into the library, which was empty, took a seat and proceeded to
regard the surroundings critically.
“Dunnot scald thy nose wi' thy own broth,” Mrs. Craddock had said to him
warningly, when he left her. “Keep a civil tongue i' thy head. Thy toime
fur saucin' thy betters is past an' gone. Tha'lt ha' to tak' both fat
an' lean together i' these days, or go wi'out mate.”
Sammy remembered these sage remarks rather sorely, as he sat awaiting
the master of the household. His independence had been very dear to
him, and the idea that he must relinquish it was a grievous thorn in
the flesh. He glanced round at the pictures and statuettes and shook his
head dubiously.
“A mon wi' so many crinkum-crankums as he seems to ha' getten 'll be
apt to be reyther set i' polytics. An' I'll warrant this is na th' best
parlor neyther. Aw th' wall covered wi' books too, an' a ornymental
step-lather to climb up to th' high shelves. Well, Sammy, owd lad,
tha's not seen aw th' world yet, tha finds out. Theer's a bit o' summat
outside Riggan. After aw, it does a mon no hurt to travel. I should na
wonder if I mought see things as I nivver heerd on if I getten as fur
as th' Contynent. Theer's France now--foak say as they dunnot speak
Lancashire i' France, an' conna so much as understand it. Well, theer's
ignorance aw o'er th' world.”
The door opened at this juncture, and Mr. Haviland entered--fresh,
florid and cordial. His temperament being an easy one, he rather
dreaded collision with anybody, and would especially have disliked an
uncomfortable interview with this old fellow. He would like to be able
to preserve his affability of demeanor for his own sake as well as for
Miss Barholm's.
“Ah!” he said, “Craddock, is it? Glad to see you, Craddock.”
Sammy rose from his seat
“Aye,” he answered. “Sam'll Craddock fro' Riggan. Same to you, Mester.”
Mr. Haviland waved his hand good-naturedly.
“Take your seat again,” he said. “Don't stand. You are the older man of
the two, you know, and I dare say you are tired with your walk. You came
about the lodge-keeper's place?”
“That little lass o' th' owd Parson's----” began Sammy.
“Miss Anice Barholm,” interposed Mr. Haviland. “Yes, she told me she
would send you. I never had the pleasure of seeing her until she drove
here yesterday to ask for the place for you. She was afraid to lose time
in waiting for her father's return.”
“Yo' nivver saw her afore?”
“No.”
“Well,” rubbing his hands excitedly over the knob of his stick, “hoo's a
rarer un than I thowt fur, even. Hoo'll stond at nowt, wont that little
wench,” and he gave vent to his feelings in a delighted chuckle. “I'd
loike to ax yo',” he added, “wheer's th' other lass, as ud ha' had the
pluck to do as mich?”
“I don't think there is another woman in the country who would have done
it,” said Mr. Haviland smiling. “We shall agree in our opinion of Miss
Barholm, I see, Craddock, if we quarrel about everything else.”
Sammy took out his flowered bandanna and wiped his bald forehead. He was
at once mollified and encouraged. He felt that he was being treated
with a kind of respect and consideration. Here was one of the gentry who
placed himself on a friendly footing with him. Perhaps upon the whole
he should not find it so difficult to reconcile himself to his change of
position after all. And being thus encouraged, a certain bold simplicity
made him address himself to Mr. Haviland not as a servant in prospective
to a prospective master, but as man to man.
“Th' fact is,” he said, “as I am na mich o' a lass's mon mysen, and
I wunnot say as I ha' mich opinion o' woman foak i' general--they're
flighty yo' see--they're flighty; but I mun say as I wur tuk by that
little wench o' th' Parson's--I wur tuk by her.”
“She would be glad to hear it, I am sure,” with an irony so suave that
Sammy proceeded with fresh gravity.
“I mak' no doubt on't,” dogmatically. “I mak' no doubt on't i' th'
world, but I dunnot know as th' flattery ud do her good. Sugar sop is na
o'er digestible to th' best o' 'em. They ha' to be held a bit i' check,
yo' see. But hoo's a wonderfu' little lass--_fur_ a lass, I mun admit.
Seems a pity to ha' wasted so mich good lad metal on a slip o' a
wench,--does na it?”
“You think so? Well, that is a matter of opinion, you know.
However--concerning the lodge-keeper's place. You understand what your
duties would be, I suppose?”
“Tendin' th' gates an' th' loike. Aye sir. Th' little lass towd me aw
about it. Hoo is na one as misses owt.”
“So I see,” smiling again. “And you think you can perform them?”
“I wur thinkin' so. It did na stroike me as a mon need to be partic'lar
muskylar to do th' reet thing by 'em. I think I could tackle 'em wi'out
breakin' down.”
After a brief discussion of the subject, it was agreed that Mr. Craddock
should be installed as keeper of the lodge the week following.
“As to politics,” said Mr. Haviland, when his visitor rose to depart, “I
hear you are something of a politician, Craddock.”
“Summat o' one, sir,” answered Sammy, his evident satisfaction touched
with a doubtful gravity. “Summat o' one. I ha' my opinions o' things i'
gineral.”
“So I have been told; and they have made you rather unpopular among our
county people, per-haps?”
“I am na mich o' a favorite,” with satisfaction.
“No, the fact is that until Miss Barholm came to me I had rather a bad
idea of you, Craddock.”
This looked somewhat serious, Craddock regarding it rather in the light
of a challenge.
“I'd loike well enow to ha' yo' change it,” he said, “but my coat is na
o' th' turnin' web. I mun ha' my say about things--gentry or no gentry.”
And his wrinkled old visage expressed so crabbed a determination that
Mr. Haviland laughed outright.
“Oh! don't misunderstand me,” he said, “stick to your party, Craddock.
We will try to agree, for Miss Barholm's sake. I will leave you to your
opinion, and you will leave me to mine--even a Member of Parliament
has a right to an opinion, you know, if he doesn't intrude it upon the
public too much.”
Craddock went home in a mollified frame of mind. He felt that he
had gained his point and held his ground, and he respected himself
accordingly. He felt too that his associates had additional right to
respect him. It was their ground too, and he had held it for them as
well as for himself. He stopped at The Crown for his midday glass of
ale; and his self-satisfaction was so evident that his friends observed
it, and remarked among themselves that “th' owd lad wur pickin' up his
crumbs a bit.”
“Yo're lookin' graidely to-day, Sammy,” said one.
“I'm feelin' a trifle graidelier than I ha' done,” he answered,
oracularly. “Things is lookin' up.”
“I'm main glad to hear it. Tell us as how.”
“Well,”--with studied indifference,--“it's noan so great luck i'
comparison, but it's summat to be thankfu' fur to a mon as is down i'
th' world. I've getten the lodge-keeper's place at Mr. Haviland's.”
“Tha' nivver says! Who'd a' thowt it? How ivver did that coom about?”
“Friends i' coort,” with dignity. “Friends i' coort. Hond me that jug
o' ale, Tummy. Haviland's a mon o' discretion, if he is a Member o'
Parlyment. We've had quoite a friendly chat this mornin' as we set i'
th' loibery together. He is na so bad i' his pollytics after aw's said
an' done. He'll do, upo' th' whole.”
“Yo' stood up to him free enow, I warrant,” said Tummy. “Th' gentle folk
dunnot often hear sich free speakin' as yo' gi' 'em, Sammy.”
“Well, I had to be a bit indypendent; it wur nat'ral. It would na ha'
done to ha' turnt soft, if he _wur_ th' mester an' me th' mon. But he's
a mon o' sense, as I say, an' he wur civil enow, an' friendly enow. He's
getten gumption to see as pollytics is pollytics. I'll tell yo' what,
lads, I'm comin' to th' opinion as happen theer's more sense i' some o'
th' gentry than we gi' em credit fur; they ha' not mich but book larnin
i' their heads, it's true, but they're noan so bad--some on 'em--if
yo're charytable wi' 'em.”
“Who was thy friend i' coort, Sammy?” was asked next.
Sammy's fist went down upon the table with a force which made the mugs
dance and rattle.
“Now tha'rt comin' to the meat i' th' egg.” he said. “Who should tha
think it wur 'at had th' good-will an' th' head to tak' th' business i'
hond?”
“It ud be hard to say.”
“Why, it wur that little lass o' th' owd Parsen's again. Dom'd if she
wunnot run aw Riggan i' a twelvemonth. I dunnot know wkeer she getten
her head-fillin' fro' unless she robbed th' owd Parson, an' left his nob
standin' empty. Happen that's what's up wi' th' owd chap.”