AT RUTHERFORD'S.
RUTHERFORD'S boilers were known all over the world, and it was at
Rutherford's works that Adam Livesey wielded his hammer day after day.
He was the subject of many a joke, on account of his silent, unsocial
ways, and yet most of his fellow workmen felt kindly towards him. They
could hardly do otherwise, for the man never resented their gibes,
sometimes did not appear to hear them. If he contributed nothing to
their enjoyment by his sayings, he took no offence at theirs, and did
not attack the speakers in turn.
"Adam, lad," said one of them, as the striker paused to wipe the
moisture from his brow, "have ye heard aught about the new manager
that's coming?"
"No," was the brief reply.
"If saving words would save pence, Adam would be a rich man," put in
another.
"'A still tongue makes a wise head,' they say. Do you believe that,
Adam? I should think you must, or you wouldn't be so quiet. But, man,
if it is true, how wise you must be!"
A general laugh followed this speech, and Adam smiled, somewhat grimly,
for the words reminded him how he had longed to be something different
from what he actually was.
"If Adam Livesey had been the first Adam that ever lived, I don't
believe he would have felt lonely if no Eve had been given to him."
"Yes, I should, mates. I never was fond of being alone."
"Then you would stand by, for company, and let the other do the
talking, eh, Adam?"
No response this time. There was work ready again, and the striker's
hammer was raised to deliver one of those ponderous blows the sound of
which was usually ringing through the smithy during working hours. But
when another pause took place, the subject of the new manager was again
introduced, and Adam listened attentively to what was said about him.
He knew that Mr. John Rutherford, the junior partner, who had hitherto
been the acting manager, had broken down in health, and was going
abroad for some months. He had always been looked upon as the very life
of the whole concern, and it was a matter of wonder and anxiety as to
what Rutherford's would be without "our Mr. John."
"It will want a first-rate man to stand in his shoes," was the general
verdict; "for Mr. John knows when a man understands his work. And
likely, for when he came here, a lad, he went through his degrees, and
learned the whole business up and down."
"A good thing for the men when the master does know what work means,"
said a steady old hand, who, like Adam, was not given to much talking.
"I don't say that," interposed another, whose face showed signs of
intemperance, and in whose unsteady hand the tool shook again, as he
paused in its use.
"I should have said it is good for the men whose minds are made up to
do an honest day's work for a fair day's wages," returned the older
man, with a half-pitying, half-contemptuous look at the trembling hand
of the last speaker. "It isn't good in the eyes of those who try how
little they can do for their money. I have always respected Mr. John
for being a first-rate workman, as well as a fair dealing master, and
I only hope the new manager may turn out to be after the same pattern.
You've seen him, Jim. What is he like?"
"A clever-looking man. Got both eyes open, and won't be easy to gammon,
I should say. Depend on it, he knows how many sixpences go to half
a crown, and how much work should go into nine hours and a half. He
came up to me, as the foreman brought him through, and he asked me a
question. I thought I'd have him on a bit, and find out what he knew,
but I'd better have let it alone. He made me look foolish, I can tell
you, and I only hope he'll not remember my face when he starts here for
good."
The speaker, Jim, was reckoned "a sharp un," a sort of workshop oracle,
and his account of the coming manager was eagerly listened to. After
Jim's experience, the conclusion come to was that Mr. Drummond would
not be easily "done."
"They say he goes about preaching o' nights," remarked another. "Queer
that, isn't it?"
"So long as he doesn't try on his preaching with me, he may do it where
he likes," said Jim. "I should stand none o' that. I didn't agree for
it, and it never did agree with me;" and Jim made a comical, wry face,
as if he had just been trying to swallow something which would not go
down.
"I only wish any preaching would do thee good, Jim," said the old
workman, with a kindly look. "You've a deal in you that I like, for,
if you've got a thing to do, you go at it with a will. But I can never
stand your way of making fun of preachers that try to help their
neighbours into the road that leads to heaven. If you won't go along
with them, there's no need to make game and hinder other folks by
laughing them out of it. You can see for yourself that if people go
from comfortable firesides, where they have their wives and children,
and could have more pleasant company besides—if they leave these, I
say, where all is bright and tempting and cheerful, and go out into
the dark lanes and miserable dirty homes, it must be out of love for
Christ, and love for the souls He died to save. When a man gives time
and strength, kind words and loving labours to those who are poorer
than he is, and nought akin, and is certain that if he does it all his
life he'll never be a penny the richer, you can't say that it's for his
own sake."
Most of this talk took place during the dinner-hour, and as the speaker
finished there were murmurs of assent from the men who were seated
round. The old workman was much respected at Rutherford's.
Jim tried to raise another laugh against him, but not succeeding,
he turned again upon Adam Livesey, who had been an eager but silent
listener.
"You'll be the chap for the new manager to preach to, Adam," said he.
"You're the one to take all in and give naught out. Eh, lad! I wish my
wife were like you."
Jim's wife was known to possess a shrill tongue and a sharp temper,
both of which were easily roused into action, but not easily stilled.
Happily for him, he bore both with equal good humour, and either
answered jestingly or got out of the way till the storm was over. His
words now raised a laugh at his own expense, and when it subsided, the
men rose and went back to work again.
Adam Livesey had not seen the new manager when he visited Rutherford's.
In fact, he could hardly be called the manager yet. He was only chosen
and appointed to fill that post, not actually in it. It would be a
month, the men had heard, before Mr. Drummond could leave his present
situation to enter upon the new one, and some regrets were expressed
on account of the delay. Not, of course, that the men wanted to see
anybody else filling the shoes of their grand favourite, Mr. John. But
they saw that the latter gentleman was "looking bad," and thought the
sooner he was away the better, and the more chance there would be of
his coming back well. He was not to take the place of managing partner
any more. Mr. Drummond, if all went well, was to be a fixture; but it
would be pleasant to have Mr. John in and out amongst them, though
taking things more easily than of old.
Adam Livesey said less than anybody about these things, but probably
no one thought more of the new manager, or looked more eagerly for his
coming, than did the silent striker.