In Mr. Furze's establishment was a man who went by the name of Orkid Jim,
"Orkid" signifying the general contradictoriness and awkwardness of his
temper. He had a brother who was called Orkid Joe, in the employ of a
builder in the town, but it was the general opinion that Orkid Jim was
much the orkider of the two. He was a person with whom Mr. Furze seldom
interfered. He was, it is true, a good workman in the general fitting
department, in setting grates, and for jobs of that kind, but he was
impertinent and disobedient. Mr. Furze, however, tolerated his insults,
and generally allowed him to have his own way. He was not only afraid of
Orkid Jim, but he was a victim to that unhappy dread of a quarrel which
is the torment and curse of weak minds. It is, no doubt, very horrible
to see a man trample upon opinions and feelings as easily and carelessly
as he would upon the grass, and go on his way undisturbed, but it is more
painful to see faltering, trembling incapacity for self-assertion,
especially before subordinates. Mr. Furze could not have suffered more
than two or three days' inconvenience if Orkid Jim had been discharged,
but a vague terror haunted him of something which might possibly happen.
Partly this distressing weakness is due to the absence of a clear
conviction that we are right; it is an intellectual difficulty; but
frequently it is simple mushiness of character, the same defect which
tempts us, when we know a thing is true, to whittle it down if we meet
with opposition, and to refrain from presenting it in all its sharpness.
Cowardice of this kind is not only injustice to ourselves, but to our
friends. We inflict a grievous wrong by compromise. We are responsible
for what we see, and the denial or the qualification should be left to
take care of itself. Our duty is, if possible, to give a distinct
outline to what we have in our mind. It is easy to say we should not be
obstinate, pigheaded, and argue for argument's sake. That is true, just
as much as every half truth is true, but the other half is also true.
Mr. Furze, excepting when he was out of temper, never stood up to Orkid
Jim. He needed the stimulus of passion to do what ought to have been
done by reason, and when we cannot do what is right save under the
pressure of excitement it is generally misdone. Orkid Jim had a great
dislike to Tom, which he took no pains to conceal. It was difficult to
ascertain the cause, but partly it was jealousy. Tom had got before him.
This, however, was not all. It was a case of pure antipathy, such as may
often be observed amongst animals. Some dogs are the objects of special
hatred by others, and are immediately attacked by them, before any cause
of offence can possibly have been given.
Jim had called at the Terrace on the morning after the explosion with
Catharine. He came to replace a cracked kitchen boiler, and Mrs. Furze,
for some reason or other, felt inclined to go down to the kitchen and
have some talk with him. She knew how matters stood between him and Tom.
"Well, Jim, how are you getting on now? I have not seen you lately."
"No, marm, I ain't one as comes to the front much now."
"What do you mean? I suppose you might if you liked. I am sure Mr.
Furze values you highly."
Jim was cautious and cunning; not inclined to commit himself. He
consequently replied by an "Ah," and knocked with great energy at the
brickwork from which he was detaching the range.
"Anything been the matter then, Jim?"
"No, marm; nothing's the matter."
"You have not quarrelled with Mr. Furze, I hope? You do not seem quite
happy."
"Me quarrel with Mr. Furze, marm!--no, I never quarrel with _him_. He's
a gentleman, he is."
Mrs. Furze was impatient. She wanted to come to the point, and could not
wait to manoeuvre.
"I am afraid you and Tom do not get on together."
"Well, Mrs. Furze, if we don't it ain't my fault."
"No, I dare say not; in fact, I am sure it is not. I dare say Tom is a
little overbearing. Considering his origin, and the position he now
occupies, it is natural he should be."
"He ain't one as ought to give himself airs, marm. Why--"
Jim all at once dropped his chisel and his mask of indifference and
flashed into ferocity.
"Why, my father was a tradesman, he was, and I was in your husband's
foundry earning a pound a week when Master Tom was in rags. Who taught
him I should like to know?"
"Jim, you must not talk like that; although, to tell you the truth, Tom
is no favourite of mine. Mr. Furze, however, relies on him."
"Relies on him, does he? Leastways, I know he does; just as if scores of
others couldn't do jist as well, only they 'aven't 'ad his chance! Relies
on him, as yer call it! But there, if I wur to speak, wot 'ud be the
use?"
It is always a consolation to incapable people that their lack of success
is due to the absence of chances. From the time of Korah, Dathan, and
Abiram--who accused Moses and Aaron of taking too much upon themselves,
because every man in the congregation was as holy as his God-selected
leaders--it has been a theory, one may even say a religion, with those
who have been passed over, that their sole reason for their super-session
is an election as arbitrary as that by the Antinomian deity, who, out of
pure wilfulness, gives opportunities to some and denies them to others.
"What do you mean, Jim? What is it that you see?"
"You'll excuse me, missus, if I says no more. I ain't a-goin' to meddle
with wot don't concern me, and get myself into trouble for nothing: wot
for, I should like to know? Wot good would it do me?"
"But, Jim, if you are aware of anything wrong it is your duty to report
it."
"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't; but wot thanks should I get?"
"You would get my thanks and the thanks of Mr. Furze, I am sure. Look
here, Jim." Mrs. Furze rose and shut the kitchen door. Phoebe was
upstairs, but she thought it necessary to take every precaution. "I know
you may be trusted, and therefore I do not mind speaking to you. Tom's
conduct has not been very satisfactory of late. I need not go into
particulars, but I shall really be glad if you will communicate to me
anything you may observe which is amiss. You may depend upon it you
shall not suffer."
She put two half-crowns into Jim's hand. He turned and looked at her
with one eye partly shut, and a curious expression on his face--half
smile, half suspicion. He then looked at the money for a few seconds and
put it deliberately in his pocket, but without any sign of gratitude.
"I'll bear wot you say in mind," he replied.
At this instant the kitchen door opened, and Phoebe entered. Mrs. Furze
went on with the conversation immediately, but it took a different turn.
"How do you think the old boiler became cracked?" He was taken aback;
his muddled brain did not quite comprehend the situation, but at last he
managed to stammer out that he did not know, and Mrs. Furze retired.
Jim was very slow in arranging his thoughts, especially after a sudden
surprise. A shock, or a quick intellectual movement on the part of
anybody in contact with him, paralysed him, and he recovered and extended
himself very gradually. Presently, however, his wits returned, and he
concluded that the pretext of the shop and business mismanagement was but
very partially the cause of Mrs. Furze's advances. He knew that although
Mr. Furze was restive under Tom's superior capacity, there was no doubt
whatever of his honesty and ability. Besides, if it was business, why
did the mistress interfere? Why did she thrust herself upon him?--"coming
down 'ere a purpose," thought Mr. Orkid Jim. "No, no, it ain't
business," and, delighted with his discovery so far, and with the
conscious exercise of mental power, he smote the bricks with more vigour
than ever.
"Good-bye, Phoebe," said Catharine, looking in at the door.
"Good-bye, Miss," said Phoebe, running out; "hope you'll enjoy yourself:
I wish I were going with you."
"Where is she a-goin'?" asked Jim, when Phoebe returned.
"Chapel Farm."
"Oh, is she? Wot, goin' there agin! She's oftener there than here. Not
much love lost 'twixt her and the missus, is there?"
Phoebe was uncommunicative, and went on with her work.
"I say, Phoebe, has Catchpole been up here lately?"
"Why do you want to know? What is it to you?"
"Now, my beauty, wot is it to me? Why, in course it's nothin' to me; but
you know he's been here."
"Well, then, he hasn't."
Phoebe, going to bed, had seen Tom and Catharine outside the gate.
"Wy, now, I myself see'd 'im out the night afore last, and I'd swear he
come this way afore he went home."
"He did not come in; he only brought Miss Catharine back from church:
she'd gone there alone."
Jim dropped his chisel. The three events presented themselves
together--Tom's escort of Catharine, the interview with Mrs. Furze, and
the departure to Chapel Farm. He was excited, and his excitement took
the form of a sudden passion for Phoebe.
"You're ten times too 'ansom for that chap," he cried, and turning
suddenly, he caught her with one arm round her waist. She strove to
release herself with great energy, and in the struggle he caught his foot
in his tool basket and fell on the floor, cutting his head severely with
a brick. Phoebe was out of the kitchen in an instant.
"You damned cat!" growled he, "I'll be even with you and your Master Tom!
I know all about it now."