Black, White and Gray Part 10

The office, where Mr Solace had retired to struggle with his accounts, was not a very business-like apartment. It was a small room with a door opening into the stable-yard, full of a great variety of articles, such as boots, whips, guns, walking-sticks, and pipes. In the window there was a big writing-table, covered with account-books and papers, and it was here that the farm men came to be paid on Sat.u.r.day night. From his seat Mr Solace could see all that went on in the stable-yard, and could shout out orders to the men as they pa.s.sed across it without leaving his chair. That was in summer, but now the window was shut and the room was quite full of the fumes of Mr Solace's pipe, from which he was puffing angry clouds of tobacco, as he frowned over a great leather-bound book in front of him.

He was a man of about fifty, with iron-grey hair and very blue eyes which looked keenly out under bushy brows. They were kindly eyes, but they were eyes which could fix themselves commandingly on man or beast, and seemed used to having their commands obeyed. They were set in a face so bronzed and reddened by an outdoor life, that this colour was all the more striking, except to old Sally, who spoke lightly of them compared to others she "minded" in the family. "They weren't nothing at all to what old Mr Solace's was," she said. "They _were_ blue, if you like."

Biting the top of his quill pen, and stamping his foot, when the figures were too much for his patience, the farmer had just travelled nearly up a long column, when a loud knock was heard at his door.

At first he only grunted impatiently, for he knew that if he let go his calculation for an instant, he was a lost man, and would have to add it all up again. But almost immediately the knock was loudly repeated.

"Come in," he shouted, flinging down his pen and turning angrily towards the door. His gaze was directed to the height of a full-grown person, and he lowered it hastily to the level of Dennis's small round head, and said in a softer tone: "Oh, it's you, is it, my boy."

Dennis marched straight in at once, and stood at the farmer's elbow. He was not a bit afraid of Mr Solace, and had prepared just what he meant to say, so he began without a pause.

"I've come to ask you a favour, please."

"And I wish you'd come at any other time," said Mr Solace good-naturedly; "but as you're here, out with it."

Dennis's favours were usually connected with jackdaws, or rabbits, or puppies, and no doubt this would be something of the same kind.

"It's a bigger one than ever I've asked before," continued Dennis, "and I want it more than anything I've wanted before."

"Fire away!" said the farmer; "only make haste about it, because I'm busy."

"I want you," said Dennis, speaking slowly and solemnly, as he drew up closer, "to let Tuvvy stop."

The farmer's face changed. He gave a long low whistle.

"Did he send you to ask me that?" he said.

"No indeed," replied Dennis indignantly; "I thought of it my very own self. He's promised not to have any more bouts, if you'll keep him on."

Mr Solace got up and stood with his elbow on the mantelpiece, looking down at Dennis.

"Well, my boy," he said, "that's a thing I must say 'No' to. I'm forced to, by Tuvvy himself. I don't want to send him away. I shan't get another such a clever chap in his place."

"Then why do you?" asked Dennis.

"Because I can't put up with him any longer; I've been too soft-hearted already. I've winked at his goings-on again and again, and I've let him off times out of number. But now my mind's made up."

"But he's _promised_," urged Dennis, "and he's going to walk home the field-way, so as not to pa.s.s the Cross Keys. He says it's the red blind that draws him in."

"H'm," said the farmer, with a short laugh. "He don't want much _drawing_, I fancy. And as for his promises--I've had enough of Tuvvy's promises."

Dennis looked crestfallen. He had not expected this.

"Won't you try him just this _once_ more?" he pleaded.

"Now, look here, Master Dennis," said the farmer; "you know most of my men. They don't call me a hard master, do they?"

"No," replied Dennis; "they say the gaffer's very kind."

"Well, but there's another thing I've got to think of besides kindness, and that's justice. It isn't fair, you see, to the other men to let Tuvvy off. Why, if I did, I shouldn't have a steady workman about the place soon, and serve me right. They'd say: 'There's that chap Tuvvy can do as he likes, and drink and leave his master in the lurch, and yet he's no worse off. Why shouldn't we do the same? What's the good of being sober and steady, and sticking to our work, if we don't get anything by it?'"

"But I'm sure," said Dennis eagerly, "they'd all like Tuvvy to stop."

"That's the worst of it," said Mr Solace, with an annoyed jerk of his head. "I should like him to stop too. He's such a clever rascal with his head as well as his hands. A hint does for him, where another man wants telling all the ins and outs of a thing, and doesn't get it right in the end. Tuvvy's got a head on his shoulders, and turns out his work just as it ought to be. It's a pleasure to see it. But then, perhaps just at a busy time when we're wanting some job he's at, he'll break out and have a regular fit of drinking for the best part of a week, and leave us all in the lurch. It's no use. I can't and won't put up with it, and I oughtn't to."

The farmer spoke as though arguing with his own weakness rather than with Dennis, who now ventured to ask: "If all the others wanted him to stay, would you let him?"

"I'll have nothing to do with asking them," said the farmer, spreading out his hands. "I'll have nothing more to do with Tuvvy at all. I've given him up. Now you run away, my boy, and let me get to my business."

Dennis stood for a minute, half uncertain whether he should put some more questions; but Mr Solace sat down to his desk, and grasped his pen with such determination, that he did not dare to make another attempt, and unwillingly left the office.

He did not, however, entirely give up hope. Dennis was a stubborn little boy, and when he had fixed his mind upon a thing, he did not soon leave off trying to get it. Could Aunt Katharine help him, he wondered, as he and Maisie ran home together. At any rate he would tell her all about it, and ask for her advice. But when she had heard the story, Aunt Katharine did not seem to have much advice to give.

"I don't think you must worry Mr Solace any more, Dennis," she said.

"He knows best how to manage his own affairs and his own men. A little boy like you can't understand such things. If the wheelwright behaves badly, of course he must lose his place."

"But," persisted Dennis, "Mr Solace really does want to keep him, I know, only he says it isn't fair to the other men."

"Well, you'd better get them to sign a Round Robin, then," said Miss Chester, laughing; "_I_ can't interfere."

She was hurrying away, as though there were no more to be said on the subject, but Dennis followed her.

"Oh Aunt Katharine," he said earnestly, taking hold of her dress, "_do_ wait a minute, and tell me what you mean by a Round Robin."

Aunt Katharine was always willing to make things clear to the children if she could, and she now sat down patiently to explain to Dennis what a Round Robin was. When he quite understood, he ran quickly in search of Maisie that he might describe it to her before he forgot a word, and get her to help him in preparing one.

CHAPTER SIX.

LOST!

"There!" said Dennis triumphantly, "we've got it right at last."

"There's only one tiny smudge on it," said Maisie, looking anxiously over his shoulder at the Round Robin.

It had cost them nearly two days of earnest effort and repeated failure, for although Aunt Katharine had described exactly how it was to be done, she had left them to carry it out entirely by themselves. It sounded so easy to say: "Take a sheet of cardboard, and draw a large circle on it, leaving room for all the signatures you want. Then write the pet.i.tion clearly in the middle, and that is a Round Robin." But it was not so easy when you began to do it. First the circle was too large, and then it was too small, then there were mistakes in the spelling, and then there were too many blots; but at last, after wasting four sheets of cardboard, the Round Robin approached perfection. Aunt Katharine came in to see it, and smiled, and said she thought it would do.

"But you've got a good deal before you yet, Dennis," she added. "Do you think you shall be able to get all the men to sign?"

"Every one of them," said Dennis decidedly. "I shall begin with the bailiff, and end with the pig-man. He can't write his name, but he can put a cross."

"It won't matter which you begin or end with," said Maisie, "because there isn't any first and last in the Round Robin."

From this moment all Dennis's energy and interest were spent upon getting the Round Robin signed. He could talk and think of nothing else, but though Maisie was eager for its success too, it did not entirely take her mind from other things. She often thought, for instance, of the two kittens in their new homes, and wondered how they were getting on, and whether Blanche was beginning to be a "comfort" to Philippa. Darkie was certainly growing handsome and more amusing every day, but perhaps he could not exactly be considered a "comfort." Madam, his mother, at any rate did not find him one, and was often very vexed with him, because he would not give up the pranks and follies of childhood. She could no longer put up with it patiently, when he pounced upon her tail if she happened to whisk it, or played leap-frog over her back like a small black goblin. On such occasions she would spit at him angrily, and box his ears with the whole strength of her outstretched arm, but Darkie did not care a bit. He must play with some one, and as Peter the dog would not notice him, there was no one left but Madam. Dennis and Maisie were quite ready to have a game, but they were not to be compared to cats for fun and frolic, and besides, they began to have some tiresome ideas about training and education. Darkie must be taught to beg like Peter. Every morning, before he was allowed to taste his breakfast, he was made to go through certain exercises.

"Beg, Darkie, beg," Maisie would say, holding the plate high above his head; and then Dennis would place him forcibly down on his hind-legs, and lift up his front paws. Darkie was a cunning cat, and he soon found that begging was to his advantage, so he learned his lesson quickly, but it was only one of many which followed, and he got very tired of them.