Sarah's School Friend Part 20

'Do you think he really is my father?' demanded Sarah.

'W'atever do you mean by talkin' such nonsense?' inquired Mrs Clay, indignation taking the place of anger for the time.

'Only that one would think he was Horatia's father, to see the way she goes on, as if she were a daughter of the house,' replied Sarah, her lip curling.

'Sarah, I'm ashamed o' you showin' such wicked jealousy to that dear girl. If you got on wi' your father there'd be no occasion for 'er to do as she does; but if she 'adn't interfered to-night w'at would 'ave 'appened? A strike very likely, an' we're not safe from it yet. There's a lot o' discontent,' repeated her mother.

'I hate interfering people!' was all Sarah said.

Then there was silence, while both mother and daughter strained their ears to listen for any sound of voices from without, dreading to hear Mark Clay's loud, rough voice raised in angry tones. But no sound was to be heard, and Mrs Clay said after a time, 'I'm glad 'e's listenin' to 'em; it'll do 'em good if they can say their say, even if 'e don't give way to 'em.'

Horatia meanwhile had tripped away with a light, dancing step, for which she was very often taken to task, not only at school, where she was told to walk properly and be more serious, but also by her mother, who said it was undignified for a girl of fifteen.

Mark Clay walked heavily beside his young companion, scarcely listening to her chatter--for it must be confessed that Horatia was rather a chatterbox, or, as her father said, 'had a good deal to say for herself'--but some words she said caught his ear. 'I dare say they are envious of your riches. I never cared to be rich before; in fact, I never thought about money, because we always seem to have everything we want at home; but since I have been at Balmoral I have envied you your riches, and thought it was rather unfair that you should have such a lot.'

'Oh, you think I've more than my share, do you, like all the rest of them? Well, I s'pose it's natural; but I'm not going to share it up for all that, as they'll pretty soon find out,' replied the millionaire.

Horatia had the sense not to say any more, and, indeed, there was no time, for they were at the door of the steward's room, where business was transacted in connection with the employes on the estate, and in this room were six men standing, cap in hand, near the outer door, which led into the yard.

Horatia wondered to herself if they kept near that door so as to have a way of escape in case their master got into one of his pa.s.sions; but these st.u.r.dy Yorks.h.i.+remen were afraid of no one and nothing. Strong, st.u.r.dy, and independent, they stood there, with civil but determined faces. They were the old mill-hands, and had been with Mark Clay from boyhood; and among them was Naomi's father.

'Well, men, is t' mill burnt down that I can't even eat my dinner in peace, but must come at once to speak with you?' inquired Mr Clay.

'Sorry to interrupt your dinner, master; but we know it's a long business, is that, up at Balmoral, and we've got to take an answer back to our mates down Ousebank by nine o'clock,' said Naomi's father, who was evidently the spokesman.

'Oh, and what may you want to know?' inquired Mark Clay in a tone which did not promise much.

Luke Mickleroyd looked for a moment doubtfully at Horatia. 'It's business we want to talk, Mr Clay,' he said.

'Have your say, lad, and have done with it. This young lady is going to judge between us to-night, and the sooner you say what you've got to say the better we'll be pleased, for our dinner's cooling on the table, and that's not the way we treat guests up north,' said Mr Clay in a more conciliatory tone. The reminder of Horatia had done Luke Mickleroyd's cause a good turn, as he saw.

'Well, master, it's like this, only I doubt little missy there won't understand aught about it. The young men say there's a lot more boys taken on in the mill to what there ought to be,' began Luke.

Mr Clay interrupted angrily. 'Ought to be? And who's to settle that but me?'

'I am, for to-night; you said I might. Do let me feel like a millionaire just for five minutes!' said Horatia in an undertone, pulling at the mill-owner's sleeve to make him attend to her.

The millionaire threw himself into the big armchair at the top of the broad table which divided him from his men, and said with a rough laugh, 'Have your way, la.s.s. I'm rich enough to let you have your whim, if you don't go too far. Let's see how you'd manage a mill.--Now then, Luke, let Miss Cunningham hear your tale, and see what she says to it.'

'We've got to deal with you, master,' began one of the others rather gruffly, for he thought Mark Clay was treating them and their wrongs lightly.

But Luke Mickleroyd had heard from his daughter Naomi of the influence Horatia had over the mill-owner, and said, 'I'm spokesman, if you please, mates.--And this is what we've come to say. There's two men been turned off because they've been ill, and boys put on in their place.'

'They did no more work than the boys,' observed Mark Clay, 'and took double the wages.'

'They didn't do quite as much work, 'tis true; but they did it better, and we always made up by the end of the day between us what they couldn't manage when 'twas heavy work; but the men say they ain't going to do it for the boys.'

'No, of course not,' said Horatia impulsively.

'Oh, of course not, you say?--Well, go on,' said Mr Clay.

'And these men have got wives and families to support, and who'll take them on if they're turned out of Clay's Mills for not being able to do their work?'

[Ill.u.s.tration: 'We've come to say there's two men been turned off because they've been ill, and boys put on in their place.' PAGE 132.]

'I've nought to do with that. Business is business, and you can't mix sentiment up with it,' said the master.

'But, then, some one will have to support them,' said Horatia.

'The rates will,' said Mr Clay.

'Well, you pay the rates, so you may just as well keep them at the mills; the work gets done, and it makes no difference to you whether their friends help them to do it or not, and, you see, it won't get done with those boys, because the men won't help them. So, I say, take the two men back.--And, oh! I do think it kind of you men to do their work, and come and speak up for them,' wound up Horatia.

Mr Clay gave her a glance. The plain little face was lit up by animation, and he smiled. Then he turned to the men. 'Very good, lads; you hear what the young lady says. I promised her her way, and she shall have it.' Here his face grew stern. 'But it's to her I've given way, not to my men, remember that. What Mark Clay does is done, and won't be undone; and there's no parleying between master and man in Clay's Mills; so the next time the men want to come up to see me, tell them it's no good; Mark Clay receives no deputations from his men. If they don't like his ways they can leave him; it's as they like.'

'We're not likely to do that without we're forced. We've worked for you, man and boy, these thirty years, some of us, Mr Clay,' said Luke Mickleroyd.

'I sha'n't force you. I know good workers when I've got 'em, and give 'em good wages, too,' said Mr Clay. And this was quite true, and no better work was turned out of any mill than that done by Clay's Mills.

'We thank you for receiving us to-night, master.--And we are much obliged to you, miss, for your kind words,' said Luke Mickleroyd.

The millionaire rose from his seat. 'And now, I suppose, we can go and have our dinner?' he said sarcastically.

'Good-night, Mr Clay.--Good-night, miss,' said the men, and they filed out into the yard.

The millionaire grunted something which might be interpreted to be a farewell, and turned to walk out of the other door. He did not wait to let Horatia pa.s.s out first; indeed, he had never even offered her a seat, though he had sat down himself, these courtesies not being in his way.

Horatia, however, did not seem to notice the want of politeness, but said a bright goodnight to the deputation, and followed her host out of the room.

Sykes was waiting at the back-door, watching the door of the steward's room; and beside him was Naomi, and the moment the men appeared she ran forward and said, 'Has he given in, father?'

Sykes followed, and came up in time to hear Luke Mickleroyd reply, 'Yes, he's given way this time, la.s.s.'

'That's a good job! Well, go on into the servants' hall, and have a drink to celebrate the good news. I must make haste and serve the rest of the dinner. And another time do you take and come a little later and give a man a chance to have his dinner in peace,' said Sykes, hurrying off.

'I think we'll be going on to give the answer. I don't feel in no mood for drink,' said Luke.

'Why not, lad? All's well that ends well, and we've got our way this time,' said one of the others.

'Ay, we've got it this time; but we sha'n't get it next, without that young lady works miracles, same as she seems to do wi' Mark Clay,'

replied the man gloomily.

'Tell us about it, father. She's really jolly, ain't she? Whatever did she go to see you for? She's a caution, is Miss Horatia!' exclaimed Naomi.

'She's a real good young lady, and wanted to do the family and us men a good turn. Now, if he'd got a daughter like that!' said Luke.

'Oh, come, father, I'm not going to have a word said against Miss Sarah.

She's not gay like Miss Cunningham, 'tis true; but she's as grieved ['grieved' means 'vexed' in Yorks.h.i.+re] about the way her father carries on as can be, only she's too much of a lady to go putting herself in a man's place,' said Naomi, defending her young mistress hotly.

'The other's more of a lady if you go by blood,' put in Tom Fox, who was a staunch admirer of Horatia since the affair of the motor, and had heard from Cunningham's chauffeur who Horatia was.