Johnny Ludlow First Series Part 99

"And don't you see as they tell upon us men, too!" he retorted with a sob that was half pitiful, half savage. "Ay, and worst of all; for if they should be mistaken steps stead of right ones, we've got 'em on our conscience."

"But you go in for them, h.o.a.r. You, individually: and this last night's blow is the result. It certainly seems that there must be a mistake somewhere."

This has not been much to tell of, but it is _true_; and, as strikes are all the go just now, I thought I would write out for you a sc.r.a.p of one of ours. For my own part, I cannot see that strikes do much good in the long run; or at best, that they are worth the outlay. I do know, for I have heard and seen it, that through many a long day the poor wives and children can only cry aloud to Heaven to pity them and their privations.

In course of time the strike (it was the longest on record in our parts, though we have had a few since then) came to an end. Upon which, the men began life again with bare homes and sickly young ones; and a few vacant chairs.

XXIII.

BURSTING-UP.

There have been fiery August days in plenty; but never a more fiery one than this that I am going to tell of. It was Wednesday: and we were sitting under the big tree on the lawn at d.y.k.e Manor. A tree it would have done you good only to look at on a blazing day: a large weeping ash, with a cool and shady s.p.a.ce within it, large enough for a dozen chairs round, and a small table.

The chairs and the table were there now. On the latter stood iced cider and some sparkling lemonade: uncommonly good, both, on that thirsty day.

Mr. Brandon, riding by on his cob, had called in to see us; and sat between me and Mrs. Todhetley. She was knitting something in green shades of wool. The Squire had on a straw hat; Tod lay on the gra.s.s outside, in the shade of the laurels; Hugh and Lena stood at the bench near him, blowing bubbles and chattering like magpies.

"Well, I don't know," said old Brandon, taking a draught of the lemonade. "It often happens with me if I plan to go anywhere much beforehand, that when the time comes I am not well enough for it."

Mr. Todhetley had been telling him that he thought he should take the lot of us to the seaside for a week or two in September; and suggested that he should go with us. It had been a frightfully hot summer, and everybody felt worn out.

"Where shall you go?" questioned Mr. Brandon.

"Somewhere in Wales, I think," said the Squire. "It's easiest of access from here. Aberystwith, perhaps."

"Not much of a sea at Aberystwith," cried Mr. Brandon, in his squeaky voice.

"Well, it's not quite a Gibraltar Rock, Brandon, but it does for us. The last time we went to the seaside; it is three years ago now----"

"Four," mildly put in Mrs. Todhetley, looking up from her wools.

"Four, is it! Well, it was Aberystwith we went to then; and we were very comfortably lodged. It was at a Mrs. Noon's, I remember; and----who's coming now?"

A dash in at the gate was heard--a little startling Mr. Brandon, lest whatever it was should dash over his cob, tied to the gate-post--and then came the smooth run of light wheels on the gravel.

"Look out and see who it is, Johnny."

Putting the leaves aside, I saw a light, elegant, open carriage, driven by a groom in livery; a gentleman seated beside him in dainty gloves.

"Why, that's the Clement-Pells' little carriage!" exclaimed Mrs.

Todhetley, who had been looking for herself.

"And that's Mr. Clement-Pell in it," said I.

"Oh," said Mr. Brandon. "I'll go then." But the Squire put up his arm to detain him.

Tod did the honours. Went to receive him, and brought him to us under the tree. The children stopped blowing bubbles to stare at Mr.

Clement-Pell as he crossed the lawn. It struck me that just a shade of annoyance appeared in his face when he saw so many of us there.

Shaking hands, he sat down by Mr. Todhetley, observing that it was some time since he had seen us. It was six weeks, or so: for we had not happened to meet him since that visit of mine and Tod's at his house in Kensington. All the family were back again now at Parrifer Hall: and we were going to a grand entertainment there on the following day, Thursday. An open-air fete, the invitations had said.

"You have been very busy lately, Mr. Clement-Pell," observed the Squire.

"I've not been able to get to see you to thank you for the kindness of your folk to my boys in town. Twice I called at your chief Bank, but you were not visible."

"I have been unusually busy," was the answer. "Business gets worse; that is, more extensive; every day. I have had to be about a good deal besides; so that with one thing and another, my time has been more than fully occupied. I am very glad your young men enjoyed themselves with us in London," he added in hearty tones.

Mr. Brandon gave me such a look that for the life of me I could not say a word in answer. The London visit, taking it altogether, had not been one of enjoyment: but Clement-Pell had no suspicion of the truth.

"Rather a _rapid_ life, that London life," remarked Mr. Brandon dryly.

And I went hot all over, for fear he might be going to let out things to the company.

"Rapid?" repeated Mr. Clement-Pell. "Well, so it is; especially for us business men."

Mr. Brandon coughed, but said no more. The Squire pressed refreshment on Mr. Clement-Pell. He'd have nothing to say to the cider--it would make him hotter, he thought--but took some of the lemonade. As he was putting the gla.s.s down Mrs. Todhetley asked whether to-morrow's fete was to be as grand and large as was reported. And the annoyance, seen before, most certainly again crossed Clement-Pell's face at the question.

"I do not really know much about it," he answered. "These affairs are my wife's, not mine."

"And perhaps you don't much care for them," put in the Squire, who had noticed the expression.

"I should like them very much, if I had more time to spare for them,"

said Mr. Clement-Pell, playing with his handsome chain and seals. "We men of large undertakings must be content to work ourselves, and to let our wives and daughters do the playing. However, I hope I shall manage an hour or two for this one to-morrow."

"What are to be the amus.e.m.e.nts?" inquired Mrs. Todhetley.

"The question is, rather, what they are not to be," smiled Mr.

Clement-Pell. "I heard the girls talking about it with one another last night. Dancing, music, archery, fortune-telling----"

"Something, I suppose, of what may be called a fancy-fair," she interrupted.

"Just so. A fancy-fair without charge. At any rate, I make no doubt it will be pleasant: and I sincerely hope to see you all at it. _You_ will come, I trust, Mr. Brandon. These things are not in your usual way, I am aware, but----"

"I have neither the health nor the inclination for them," said Mr.

Brandon, quite shrilly, stopping him before he could finish.

"But I trust you will make an exception in favour of us to-morrow, I was about to say. Mrs. Clement-Pell and the Miss Clement-Pells will be so pleased to see you."

"Thank you," said old Brandon, in a tone only just short of rudeness. "I must be going, Squire."

He got up as he spoke, shook hands with Mrs. Todhetley only, nodded to the rest of us, and set off across the lawn. Children liked him in spite of his voice and dry manner, and of course Hugh and Lena, pipes and soap-suds and all, attended him to the gate.

As the brown cob went trotting off, and the Squire was coming back again--for he had gone too--Mr. Clement-Pell met him half-way across the lawn, and then they both went indoors together.

"Clement-Pell must want something," said Mrs. Todhetley. "Johnny, do you notice how very aged and worn he is? It never struck me until to-day. He looks quite grey."

"Well, that's because he is getting so. I shall be grey some time."