North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell (popular books to read .TXT) 📗

‘Can’t stay now, my man. I’m too late as it is.’

‘Well, sir, I reckon I can wait till yo’ come back.’

Mr. Thornton was half way down the street. Higgins sighed. But it was no use. To catch him in the street was his only chance of seeing ‘the measter;’ if he had rung the lodge bell, or even gone up to the house to ask for him, he would have been referred to the overlooker. So he stood still again, vouchsafing no answer, but a short nod of recognition to the few men who knew and spoke to him, as the crowd drove out of the millyard at dinner-time, and scowling with all his might at the Irish ‘knobsticks’ who had just been imported. At last Mr. Thornton returned.

‘What! you there still!’

‘Ay, sir. I mun speak to yo’.’

‘Come in here, then. Stay, we’ll go across the yard; the men are not come back, and we shall have it to ourselves. These good people, I see, are at dinner;’ said he, closing the door of the porter’s lodge.

He stopped to speak to the overlooker. The latter said in a low tone:

‘I suppose you know, sir, that that man is Higgins, one of the leaders of the Union; he that made that speech in Hurstfield.’

‘No, I didn’t,’ said Mr. Thornton, looking round sharply at his follower. Higgins was known to him by name as a turbulent spirit.

‘Come along,’ said he, and his tone was rougher than before. ‘It is men such as this,’ thought he, ‘who interrupt commerce and injure the very town they live in: mere demagogues, lovers of power, at whatever cost to others.’

‘Well, sir! what do you want with me?’ said Mr. Thornton, facing round at him, as soon as they were in the counting-house of the mill.

‘My name is Higgins’—

‘I know that,’ broke in Mr. Thornton. ‘What do you want, Mr. Higgins? That’s the question.’

‘I want work.’

‘Work! You’re a pretty chap to come asking me for work. You don’t want impudence, that’s very clear.’

‘I’ve getten enemies and backbiters, like my betters; but I ne’er heerd o’ ony of them calling me o’er-modest,’ said Higgins. His blood was a little roused by Mr. Thornton’s manner, more than by his words.

Mr. Thornton saw a letter addressed to himself on the table. He took it up and read it through. At the end, he looked up and said, ‘What are you waiting for?’

‘An answer to the question I axed.’

‘I gave it you before. Don’t waste any more of your time.’

‘Yo’ made a remark, sir, on my impudence: but I were taught that it was manners to say either “yes” or “no,” when I were axed a civil question. I should be thankfu’ to yo’ if yo’d give me work. Hamper will speak to my being a good hand.’

‘I’ve a notion you’d better not send me to Hamper to ask for a character, my man. I might hear more than you’d like.’

‘I’d take th’ risk. Worst they could say of me is, that I did what I thought best, even to my own wrong.’

‘You’d better go and try them, then, and see whether they’ll give you work. I’ve turned off upwards of a hundred of my best hands, for no other fault than following you and such as you; and d’ye think I’ll take you on? I might as well put a firebrand into the midst of the cotton-waste.’

Higgins turned away; then the recollection of Boucher came over him, and he faced round with the greatest concession he could persuade himself to make.

‘I’d promise yo’, measter, I’d not speak a word as could do harm, if so be yo’ did right by us; and I’d promise more: I’d promise that when I seed yo’ going wrong, and acting unfair, I’d speak to yo’ in private first; and that would be a fair warning. If yo’ and I did na agree in our opinion o’ your conduct, yo’ might turn me off at an hour’s notice.’

‘Upon my word, you don’t think small beer of yourself! Hamper has had a loss of you. How came he to let you and your wisdom go?’

‘Well, we parted wi’ mutual dissatisfaction. I wouldn’t gi’e the pledge they were asking; and they wouldn’t have me at no rate. So I’m free to make another engagement; and as I said before, though I should na’ say it, I’m a good hand, measter, and a steady man—specially when I can keep fro’ drink; and that I shall do now, if I ne’er did afore.’

‘That you may have more money laid up for another strike, I suppose?’

‘No! I’d be thankful if I was free to do that; it’s for to keep th’ widow and childer of a man who was drove mad by them knobsticks o’ yourn; put out of his place by a Paddy that did na know weft fro’ warp.’

‘Well! you’d better turn to something else, if you’ve any such good intention in your head. I shouldn’t advise you to stay in Milton: you’re too well known here.’

‘If it were summer,’ said Higgins, ‘I’d take to Paddy’s work, and go as a navvy, or haymaking, or summut, and ne’er see Milton again. But it’s winter, and th’ childer will clem.’

‘A pretty navvy you’d make! why, you couldn’t do half a day’s work at digging against an Irishman.’

‘I’d only charge half-a-day for th’ twelve hours, if I could only do half-a-day’s work in th’ time. Yo’re not knowing of any place, where they could gi’ me a trial, away fro’ the mills, if I’m such a firebrand? I’d take any wage they thought I was worth, for the sake of those childer.’

‘Don’t you see what you would be? You’d be a knobstick. You’d be taking less wages than the other labourers—all for the sake of another man’s children. Think how you’d abuse any poor fellow who was willing to take what he could get to keep his own children. You and your Union would soon be down upon him. No! no! if it’s only for the recollection of the way in which you’ve used the poor knobsticks before now, I say No! to your question. I’ll not give you work. I won’t say, I don’t believe your pretext for coming and asking for work; I know nothing about it. It may be true, or it may not. It’s a very unlikely story, at any rate. Let me pass. I’ll not give you work. There’s your answer.’

‘I hear, sir. I would na ha’ troubled yo’, but that I were bid to come, by one as seemed to think yo’d getten some soft place in, yo’r heart. Hoo were mistook, and I were misled. But I’m not the first man as is misled by a woman.’

‘Tell her to mind her own business the next time, instead of taking up your time and mine too. I believe women are at the bottom of every plague in this world. Be off with you.’

‘I’m obleeged to yo’ for a’ yo’r kindness, measter, and most of a’ for yo’r civil way o’ saying goodbye.’

Mr. Thornton did not deign a reply. But, looking out of the window a minute after, he was struck with the lean, bent figure going out of the yard: the heavy walk was in strange contrast with the resolute, clear determination of the man to speak to him. He crossed to the porter’s lodge:

‘How long has that man Higgins been waiting to speak to me?’

‘He was outside the gate before eight o’clock, sir. I think he’s been there ever since.’

‘And it is now—?’

‘Just one, sir.’

‘Five hours,’ thought Mr. Thornton; ‘it’s a long time for a man to wait, doing nothing but first hoping and then fearing.’