"ANOTHER MAN!"
In two days Haworth returned. He came from the station one morning, not
having been home. He did not go to the Works, but to the bank and
straight into Ffrench's private room.
The look this unhappy gentleman gave him when he saw him was a queer
mixture of anxiety, furtive query, and amiably frank welcome,--the frank
welcome a very faint element indeed, though it was brought to light by a
violent effort. Haworth shut the door and locked it, and then turned
upon him, his face black with rage.
"Say summat!" he ground out through his teeth. "Say summat as'll keep me
from smashing every bone in your body!"
Ffrench gave him one hopeless glance and wilted into a drooping, weakly
protesting, humiliated figure.
"Don't--don't be so severe, Haworth," he said. "I--I----"
"Blast you!" burst in Haworth, pitilessly. "You've ruined me!"
He spoke under his breath. No one in the room beyond could hear a word,
but it was a thousand times more terrible than if he had roared at the
top of his voice, as was his custom when things went amiss.
"You've ruined me!" he repeated. "_You!_ A chap that's played gentleman
manufacturer; a chap I've laughed at; a chap I took in to serve my own
ends--ruined me, by----"
"Oh, no, no!" the culprit cried out. "My dear fellow, no! No, no!"
Haworth strode up to him and struck his fist against the table.
"Have I ever told you a word of what was going on?" he demanded.
"No! No!"
"Have I ever let you be aught but what I swore you should be at th'
first--a fellow to play second fiddle and do what he was told?"
Ffrench turned pale. A less hard nature would have felt more sympathy
for him.
"No," he answered, "you have not," and his chin dropped on his breast.
Haworth shook his fist in his face. He was in a frenzy of rage and
despair.
"It's been going from bad to worse for six months," he said; "but you
were not up to seeing it stare you in the face. Strikes are the things
for trade to thrive on! One place after another gone down and Jem
Haworth's stood up. Jem Haworth's outdone 'em all. I've not slept for
three month, my lad. I've fought it like a tiger! I've not left a stone
unturned. I've held my mouth shut and my eyes open,--aye, and held my
breath, too. I've swore every time I saw daylight that I'd hold it out
to the end and show 'em all what Haworth was made of, and how he stood
when th' nobs went down at the first drive. I'd sooner have hell than
what's bound to come now! And it's you that's done it. You've lost me
twenty thousand pound--twenty thousand, when ten's worth more to me
than a hundred was a twelvemonth since!"
Ffrench quailed like a woman.
"Are--are you going to murder me?" he said. "You look as if you were."
Haworth turned on his heel.
"You're not worth it," he answered, "or I'd do it, by the Lord Harry."
Then he came back to him.
"I've paid enow for what I've never had, by George," he said, with
bitter grimness.
"For what you have----" Ffrench began.
Haworth stopped him by flinging himself down in a chair near him--so
near that their faces were brought within uncomfortably close range of
each other. There was no avoiding his eye.
"You know what," he sneered. "None better."
"I----" Ffrench faltered.
"Blast you!" said Haworth. "You played her like bait to a fish--in your
gentleman's fashion."
Ffrench felt a little sick. It was not unnatural that he should. A man
of refined instincts likes less than any other man to be confronted
brutally with the fact that he has, however delicately, tampered with a
coarseness.
Haworth went on.
"You knew how to do it, and you did it--gentleman way. You knew me and
you knew I was hard hit and you knew I'd make a big throw. That was
between us two, though we never said a word. I'd never give up a thing
in my life before and I was mad for her. She knew how to hold me off and
gave me plenty to think of. What else had you, my lad? 'Haworth's'
didn't want a gentleman; 'Haworth's' didn't want brass, and you'd none
to give if it did. It wasn't _you_ who was took in partner; it was what
Jem Haworth was aiming at--and has missed, by----"
He got up, and, pushing his chair back, made a stride toward the door.
Ffrench was sure he was going away without another word, but he suddenly
stopped and turned back.
"I'd sooner take hell than what's comin'," he repeated in a hoarse
whisper. "And it's you that's brought it on me; but if I'd got what I
aimed at, it might have come and welcome."
Then he went out.
He went across to the Works, and, going into his room, he found Murdoch
standing at one of the windows gazing out at something in the street. He
was haggard and gaunt and had a vacant look. It occurred to Haworth that
some sudden physical ailment had attacked him. He went up to his side.
"What have you found, lad?" he demanded.
The next instant his own eyes discovered what it was. An open carriage
was just drawing up before the bank. Rachel Ffrench sat in it, and Saint
Méran was with her.
He looked at them a second or so and then looked at Murdoch--at his
wretched face and his hollow eyes. An unsavory exclamation burst from
him.
"What!" he cried out after it. "There's another man, is there? Is it
_that_?"
"Yes," was Murdoch's monotonous reply. "There's another man."