Will of the Mill Part 12

"Drinkwater, my good fellow! My good friend! Pray be calm. You don't know what you are saying!--you don't know what you are saying!"

"Oh, yes, I do, Parson. Don't you interfere," added the man, fiercely.

"But, my dear sir--"

"Oh, yes, I know! I know you, too, better than you know yourself. You belong to his set. You side with the money. Make friends with the mammon of unrighteousness, as you'd say, with that with which he grinds down all these poor, s.h.i.+vering wretches--money, money, money! Piling up his money-bags, and making us slaves!"

"Drinkwater, I cannot stand and listen to this without raising my voice in protest."

"Because it gives you a chance to preach," said the man, with a bitter sneer.

Will's father stepped forward, but the Vicar raised his hand.

"One moment, Mr Willows," he said, quietly. "No, James Drinkwater," he went on, gravely, "I raise my voice in protest, because everyone who hears you knows that what you say is utterly false. They are the angry words of an over-excited man. You are not yourself. You have let your temper get the better of you through brooding over some imaginary grievance, and to-morrow when you are calm I know from old experience that you will bitterly regret the insults you have heaped upon the head of as good and true-hearted a man as ever stepped this earth."

Drinkwater was about to reply, but he was checked by a fresh speaker, for Will suddenly threw up his cap high in the air with as loud a hurrah as he could utter, acting as fugleman to the group around, who joined in heartily, helped by Josh, in a cheer, strangely mingled, the gruff with the shrill of the women's voices.

"Well done!" whispered Will, half-bashfully shrinking back, and gripping his comrade's arm. "Oh, Josh, I never knew your father could preach like that!"

"Cowards! Pitiful, contemptible worms! That's right; put your necks lower under his heel. I'll have no more of it. From this day, after the words he's said to me this morning, never another stroke of work I will do here."

"Stop, James Drinkwater," cried Will's father, firmly; "as the Vicar says, you are not yourself. Don't say more of the words of which you will bitterly repent, when you grow calm--when this fit has pa.s.sed--and can see that the fault I found this morning was perfectly justified by your neglect, in a fit of temper, of a special duty--a neglect that might have resulted in a serious accident to the machinery, perhaps loss of life or limb to some of the people here."

"It's a falsehood," shouted the man. "If I left out those screws it was because I was dazed--suffering from overwork--work forced upon me that I was not fit to do, but heaped upon me to save your pocket and the blacksmith's bill."

"No," said John Willows, gravely; "I asked you to repair that engine because I knew it was a mechanical task in which you delighted to display your skill--because you would do it better than the rough smith of the town."

"Nay, it was to save your own pocket."

"That is untrue," said Mr Willows, "and, if any of your fellow-workers like to go into the office, the clerk will show them that a liberal payment, to show my satisfaction over the way the work was done, has been added as a bonus to your weekly wage."

Another cheer arose at this, which seemed to add fresh fuel to the angry fire blazing in the half-demented man's breast.

"Bah!" yelled Drinkwater, more furious than ever. "Oil! To smooth me down. But it's too late now. It has meant years of oppression, and the end has come. But don't think I mean to suffer like these cowardly worms. I too have been your worm for years, and the worm has turned at last--a worm that means to sting the foot that has trampled upon it so long. Here, what do you want, boy?" For Will had stepped forward, and thrust his hand through the man's arm.

"You, James, old chap. You come away. Mr Carlile was right; you don't know what you are saying, or you wouldn't talk to father like that."

"Let go!" cried the man, fiercely trying to shake the boy off; but Will clung tightly.

"No--come and take his other arm, Josh--here, come on up to the cottage, Jem. What's the good of going on--"

Will did not finish his sentence, for a heavy thrust, almost a blow, sent him staggering back towards Josh, who had hurried up, and was just in time to save his companion from a heavy fall.

This was too much for Will's father, whose calm firmness gave way.

"Yes," he said, angrily, "it does now come to that! You talk of putting an end to the oppression under which you seem to writhe. It shall be so. I, as your employer, tell you most regretfully, James Drinkwater, that from this day your connection with the mill must cease--I will not say entirely, for it would cause me bitter regret to lose so old and valued a servant; but matters cannot longer go on like this. In justice to others, as well as myself, this must come to an end. You have always been a difficult man with whom to deal, but, during the past six months, a great change has come over you, and I am willing to think that much of it is due to some failing in your health. There: I will say no more.

This shall not be final, James. I speak for your wife's sake as well as your own. Go back to the cottage, and, if you will take advice, you will go right away for a month, or two, or three. You are not a poor man, as you have proved to me by your acts, by coming to your bitter tyrant to invest your little savings again and again. Now, sir, speak out as you did just now, so that all your fellow-workers may hear. Are not these words true?"

James Drinkwater stood alone out there in the bright suns.h.i.+ne, which glistened on his polished bare crown as he glared at his employer, whilst his hands kept on opening and shutting in company with his lips.

"Yes," he uttered, at last, in a low, fierce growl, "that's true enough.

Why shouldn't I? Do you think I want to end my days in the Union when you kick me off like a worn-out dog? Yes, yes, I'll go; but look out.

Long years of work have not crushed all the spirit out of your slave.

Look out! Look out! The worm has turned, and the days are coming when you will feel its sting."

He s.n.a.t.c.hed himself fiercely round, and made for the stony slope-- half-rugged steps--which led upwards towards the dam, and the Vicar hurried after him; but hearing his steps, the man turned and waved him back, before striding along till he stopped suddenly in the middle of the great stone dam, raised his clenched hands towards the sunlit heavens, and then shook them at the group below.

The next minute he made a rush towards the path leading upward towards his cottage, pa.s.sing Mr Manners, who was hurrying down, and disappeared amongst the trees.

"Why, hollo!" shouted the artist. "What's the matter with my landlord?

I was going to strip for a swim. Has he turned mad? I thought he was going to jump in."

"I'm afraid that he ought to see a doctor," said the Vicar, gravely.

"He is evidently suffering from a terrible fit of excitement," and as they joined Mr Willows and the murmuring group of work-people below, he continued; "You see a great deal of him, Mr Manners. Have you noticed anything strange in his ways?"

"Strange?" said the artist, bluffly. "Well, yes, he's always strange--a silent, morose sort of fellow. But I don't dislike him; he's a very straightforward, good man, who rather looks down on me. We hardly ever speak, but I have noticed that his wife has seemed a little more troubled than usual lately. I left her crying only just now, and asked what was the matter; but all I could get was that her husband was not well. What's been going on here? I heard him shouting as soon as I came outside."

"Ah! That sounds bad," continued the artist, as soon as the Vicar had related the incident that had pa.s.sed. "Poor fellow! He doesn't drink, I know: sober as a judge. Temper--that's what it is."

"I don't like to hear those threats," said the Vicar.

"Pooh! Wind! Fluff! People say all sorts of things when they are in a pa.s.sion, and threaten high jinks. I do sometimes, don't I, boys? Take no notice, Mr Willows. We are not going to have the peace of our happy valley spoiled because somebody gets in a fantigue. Well, boys, how does the fire-engine go?"

"Haven't tried it yet," said Will.

"H'm! Can't we have a bit of a blaze? I should like to come and help to put it out."

"I think we ought to have got it out to play on poor old Boil O, for he's been quite red-hot."

"Look here, young fellow, you're rather fond of those little games, as I well know."

The boys both looked very guilty, and turned scarlet.

"You take a little bit of advice. Don't you try such a trick as that on him. It wouldn't do."

CHAPTER TEN.

AMONG THE TROUT.

The next week pa.s.sed, and the next, and more than one of the employes said a word or two to Will about how strange it seemed without James Drinkwater.

They were not alone, for Mr Willows made the same remark to his son.

"The place doesn't seem the same, Will, without James in his old place.

By the way, have you seen anything of him since?"