by John Trevena
CHAPTER XVII
PLOUGHING THE GROUND
Kezia had locked up the house and given to Bessie possession of thekeys; because she had always been left in charge when the familydeparted to the seaside, having received her commission as holder of thekeys from Captain Drake himself in the days when she was growing. Nowthere was a husband in command, and one who held decided views regardingproperty. Robert expressed his willingness to undertake the duties ofcustodian; but, in order that the work might be performed efficiently,he proposed to Bessie that they should close their own cottage andretire into luxurious residence across the road.
So when George called at his own house, which was occupied by caretakershe had not appointed, the doors were locked against him. He was notrefused admittance, as that might have looked like an unfriendly act;his presence was simply ignored. Robert, smoking in the parlour, withhis feet upon the sofa, heard the knocking; but he struck another matchand smiled. Bessie, who was preparing the best bedroom, heard theringing; but she peeped behind the curtain and muttered, "Can't have himin here taking things."
George retired to his lodgings and stared at the framed advertisements,until he heard Dyer singing as he scoured the oven. The baker had beenheard to declare that, if he had not known how to sing, he would havelost his senses long ago owing to the fightings and despondings whichbeset him. As a matter of fact he did not know how to sing, and thosewho listened were far more likely to lose their senses. Georgedescended, assured Dyer it was a sin to bake bread with a voice likethat, and went on to inquire affectionately after the business.
"Going from bad to worse, sir," came the answer. Dyer was more than apessimist; he was not content merely to look on the dark side of things,but associated himself with every bit of shadow he could find.
"I don't see how that can be. People may give up meat, they may reducetheir clothing; but they must have bread," replied George.
"But they don't want nearly so much as they used to," said Dyerbitterly, "and they looks at anything nowadays avore they takes it. WhenI started business a healthy working man would finish off two loaves aday; and one's as much as he can manage now. The human race ain'timproving, sir; 'tis dying out, I fancy. They used to be thankful voranything I sold 'em, but now if they finds a button, or a beetle, or adead mouse in the bread--and the dough will fall over on the floorsometimes--they sends the loaf back and asks vor another gratis. And thepopulation is dwindling away to nought."
"According to the census--" began George.
"Don't you believe in censuses," cried the horrified Dyer. "That's dirtywork, sir. Government has a hand in that. If me and you wur the only twoleft in Highfield parish, they'd put us down, sir, as four hundredsouls."
"You have a big sale for your cakes and doughnuts," George suggested.
"I loses on 'em," said the dreary Dyer.
"Then why do you make them?"
"I suppose, sir, 'tis a habit I've got into."
"My uncle used to say he had never tasted better cakes than yours."
"Captain Drake was a gentleman, sir. His appetite belonged to the oldschool what be passed away vor ever. When he wur alive I could almostmake both ends meet. But he gave me a nasty fright once, when he gottelling about a tree what grows abroad--bread tree he called it. Told mevolks planted it in their gardens, and picked the loaves off as theywanted 'em. 'Twas a great relief to my mind when he said the treewouldn't be a commercial success in this country because the sun ain'thot enough to bake the bread. Talking about gentlemen, sir, what do youthink of the Brocks?"
"A bad lot," said George, wagging his head.
"Sure enough! They make their own bread," whispered the baker.
"I didn't know they went so far as that," replied the properly horrifiedGeorge.
"Some volks stick at nothing. But is it fair, sir? How be strugglingtradesmen to escape ruin when volks break the law--"
"It's not illegal."
"There's Government again! I tell ye how 'tis, sir, Government means toget rid of me, though I never done anything worse than stop my ears whenparson prays vor Parliament. I hates Government, sir, and I do wish itwur possible to vote against both parties. If I wur to make my owntobacco, or vizzy wine such as rich volk drink at funerals, they'd putme away in prison. Why ain't it illegal vor volks to make their ownbread? I'll tell ye why, sir: 'tis because Government means to do awaywi' bakers. They ha' been telling a lot lately about encouraging homeindustries, and that's how they stir up volks to ruin we tradesmen bymaking all they want at home."
"You are not ruined yet. Robert declares you are the richest man inHighfield--not that I believe much he says," George remarked, settlingdown to business.
"Quite right, sir. I ha' learned Robert to bake, but I can't prevent himfrom talking childish. He'd like to see me out of the business, so thathe could slip into the ruins of it. When he sees I'm the richest man inthe village he means the poorest. 'Tis just a contrairy way of talking.Captain Drake often looked in to tell wi' me--out of gratitude vor mydoughnuts what helped him to sleep, he said--'twur avore he died sosharp like."
"I guessed as much," said George.
"And he used to tell me, if you wanted to make a man real angry you hadonly to say the opposite of what you meant in the most polite languageyou could find. He told Robert the like, I fancy."
"My uncle generally found the soft answer a success," said George. "Hetold me once how another captain once called him 'a bullying oldscoundrel with a face like a lobster-salad,' and he replied, 'You're aewe-lamb.' The other man got madder than ever though, as my uncle said,you can't find anything much softer than a ewe-lamb. But Robert isn'talways calling you a rich man. He's in our kitchen every evening, and hetalks pretty freely when he has a drop of cocoa in him."
"He ain't got nothing against me. Me and the missus ha' been a fatherto him," said the baker, with suspicious alacrity.
"He thinks he has a grievance."
"Then I suppose he's still worrying over his honeymoon. A man what'sbeen married years and years ought to be thinking of his future stateand his old-age pension. He might as well be asking vor his childhoodback again."
"He says you cheated him out of his honeymoon," said George, who knewthe story: how Dyer's wedding present to his assistant had been leave ofabsence, without pay, from Saturday to Monday; coupled with a promise ofa week's holiday, with half pay, at some future date when business mightbe slack; which promise belonged to that fragile order of assurancesdeclaimed so loudly at election time.
"'Tis a lot too late now," said the baker.
"I suppose a deferred honeymoon is better than none at all," Georgeremarked. "Anyhow, Robert and his wife are grumbling a good bit and, asI'm staying here, they asked me to remind you of your promise, businessbeing very slack at present."
"I ha' never known it to be anything else, but 'tis funny it should bepicking up a little just now. I got a big order vor cakes this morning,as there's a school treat next week. Me and Robert will be kept verybusy all this month--but it's a losing business. There's no profit incakes, nor yet in bread. There used to be a profit in doughnuts, butthat's gone now."
The cautious George said no more, being content with the knowledge thathe had given Dyer something to worry about. The baker would certainlynot mention the matter so long as Robert kept silent; and Robert hadprobably forgotten all about the promise, although many months backGeorge had overheard him assuring Bessie it would be time to think of anew dress when master's wedding present came along.
"One thing is certain: nobody can get the better of me," George chuckledas he left the bakehouse. "I beat Hunter at his own game, I diddledCrampy in his, I scared Percy out of the country--at least that's mybelief--and now I'm going to make old Dyer set a trap to catch thefurniture snatchers."
The Mudges, unsuspecting treachery, were glittering like two stars offashion; Robert lolling at ease in the parlour until Bessie summoned himto supper in the dining room. If it was their duty to look after thehouse, it was also their
pleasure to take care of themselves. They didnot regard George as either friend or enemy; they despised and pitied apoor fellow who possessed no visible means of support, while attributinghis presence in Highfield to a cat-like habit of returning to a housewhich might have been his had he behaved with propriety.
The only person they feared was Kezia, who certainly did appear to havealmost as much right to the Captain's furniture as themselves. Thissuspicion was in Robert's mind when, the shutters having been closed andthe lamps lighted, he stood beside the round table upon which werespread various scraps of paper beginning to show signs of wear and tear.
"If we takes all that Mrs. Drake sees we'm to have, what do Kezia get?"he asked.
"Not much," replied Bessie.
"If Kezia takes all the things Mrs. Drake said she could have, what dowe get?" continued Robert.
"Nought," said Bessie.
"When property be left this way, volks sometimes share and share alike;or they sells the stuff, and each takes half the money," continuedRobert.
"Kezia won't neither sell nor share. She'll bide quiet till Miss Sophydies, and then she'll see a lawyer," declared Bessie.
"Our bits o' paper are as gude as hers."
"Kezia would sooner lose everything than see us take any little old bitof stuff. She'm a spiteful toad."
"The nicest thing we can do, Bess, is to go on shifting, one bit now andagin. Kezia won't notice nothing, if us takes 'em gradual."
"Where can us hide them?" asked Bessie. "We can't put 'em over in thecottage. Kezia ain't such a vule as you think. If I wur to take akitchen spine she'd miss it."
"She never found out about the last lot," Robert reminded her.
"Policeman went away sudden and forgot to tell her. We'll have to shiftthose things, vor rainy weather'll be starting soon, and that musicalbox will spoil inside the peatstack."
"I'll get 'em out avore they comes back home; I b'ain't ashamed ofclaiming what be rightly ours. I told policeman we'd took what belongedto us, and he said 'twas all right this time, but us mustn't do it toooften. I'm going to shift a few more pieces across the way in a day ortwo."
"Best wait till Miss Sophy dies," said Bessie nervously.
"We'll let the big furniture bide till then. Where's Miss Sophy going tobe buried?"
"Somewhere in London, she ses. Said she wouldn't be buried here if theypaid her vor it."
"That's got it!" cried Robert. "When Kezia goes to the funeral, I'llshift the furniture."
"Don't that seem like trying to get the better of her?"
"Ain't she trying to deprive us of our rightful property? Don't she wantto see me and you cut off wi' a fry pan? See what's wrote on thispaper--'I want Bessie to have all the furniture in the spare bedroom.'And on this one--'all the furniture in the dining room.' And on thishere--'all the stuff in the kitchen.' Ain't that clear?"
"Sure enough," said Bessie.
"Then there's the house and garden; worth a thousand pounds, I reckon."
"It seems as how Mrs. Drake never left the place to no one, unless itwur to Miss Sophy. But, I tell ye, Kezia means to have it."
"Parson had best keep his eyes open, or she'll slip off wi' the church,"said Robert grimly.
"If Miss Sophy ha' got it, 'tis only vor her life. She can't keep itafterwards," explained Bessie. "So Nellie can't get it, and Mr. Georgeain't to have nothing, and I'll watch Kezia don't have it, though Iwouldn't mind letting her the attic where they keeps the boxes."
"What about Mr. Percy!"
"Well, there! I never thought of him. But the house belonged to CaptainDrake, and he didn't like Mr. Percy, so it don't seem right the placeshould go to him."
"Mr. George would know."
"'Tis him, I fancy, who's been knocking such a lot," said Bessie.
"Go and let 'en in," directed Robert. "He can't do us any harm, and hemay do us a bit of gude."
Bessie obeyed, and George entered, beaming in the most sunny fashion,assuring the Mudges he too had frequently been deluded into the beliefthat a loose branch had been tapping against the door, when in realitysomebody was knocking and ringing. It was a mistake, he thought, toplant umbrageous perennials so close to the front doorstep, which hadbeen nicely purified since Miss Teenie stood upon it. Their plan ofacting the part of caretakers with the thoroughness of ownership hecommended highly; as, with autumn approaching, it was necessary to keepthe house warm and the furniture dry; and the only satisfactory way ofdoing so was for Robert to smoke his pipe in the parlour while Bessiereclined upon the easy chairs which, he went on to suggest, would be herown some day.
"Us might as well take t'em now as wait vor 'em, Robert ses," repliedBessie, delighted at the geniality of her visitor. "Won't you sit down,Mr. George, and make yourself comfortable? I was surprised to hear youhad gone to Mrs. Dyer's. I'd have asked ye to come here, if I'd knownyou wur going to stay."
"Thank you very much," said George simply. "I should have been far morecomfortable here; but I am not making a long stay, and I felt sure youwould be wanting to turn out these rooms."
"Kezia said you weren't coming back again," observed Robert, hoping toobtain raw material for gossip.
"What do she know?" snapped Bessie.
"Nothing," replied George. "I had to come back on business in connectionwith the railway. You see, I'm civil engineer to the company, and I haveto prepare a report."
"They did say you had given up the railway," remarked Bessie, beginningto understand the politeness of George's manner, although she did notknow why engineers had to be more civil than other people.
"That railway has been in the air a long time, but I shall never restuntil I've made it," said George with energy. "Everything is arrangednow except a few preliminary details, such as issuing the prospectus,collecting the money, and obtaining of Parliamentary powers. I have anidea of turning this garden into the terminus, and making the house thestation. This will make a good waiting room, while the dining room canbe converted into the booking office. The station-master and his familycan live upstairs. I shall be station-master, as well as generalmanager."
Bessie gulped and Robert whistled.
"Your cottage will do for a goods' station. I shall build a platformround it, put up a crane--"
"What about the street?" cried Robert.
"I shall divert that, if necessary. If I find the church is in my way,it must come down."
"But you won't start till Miss Sophy dies. Mrs. Drake said nothing wurto happen till Miss Sophy died," said Bessie.
"We can't possibly wait for her. We have got to make progress," repliedGeorge firmly.
"What about Mr. Percy?" asked the crafty Robert.
"What has he got to do with our affairs?"
"Ain't he to have the house and garden?"
"The whole of this property belongs to me, and Miss Sophy is my tenant,"replied the far more crafty George; for this was the question he hadbeen leading up to.
"Kezia won't have it anyhow," Robert muttered with satisfaction,removing his boots from the sofa. He wanted to go out into the villageand talk.
"You never did tell us much about that paper what Mrs. Drake left voryou," said Bessie reproachfully.
"It was just an ordinary will, leaving me some money and the house. Shecouldn't deprive me of that, as the property belonged to my uncle, andhe made her promise I should have it. If you don't believe me, you canask Miss Blisland," George added lightly.
"Of course we believes you. I always thought it funny Mrs. Drakeshouldn't have left you nothing," said Bessie.
"What do you think she meant to do about the furniture, sir?" askedRobert boldly.
"Ah, that's a troublesome question," said George cautiously.
"I fancy she meant to leave half to Kezia and half to me; but she wursuch a kind-hearted lady that she left all of it to both of us,"observed Bessie.
"Not all--tell the truth, Bess. We ain't going to claim what don'tbelong to us. She never left you the carpet on the stairs, nor yet theold bed in the att
ic," said Robert severely.
"You can't be too honest in business, and that means, if you are toohonest, some one else will get the better of you," said George. "If Mrs.Drake had left the furniture to Mr. Taverner and myself, as she has leftit to Kezia and you--"
"What would you ha' done, sir?" asked Robert eagerly.
"I should have looked after my own interests," George answered, as hereached for his hat.
The Mudges escorted him to the door of his own house, and hoped he wouldlook in any time he was passing.
"It's right about the house," said Robert, as he too reached for hishat. "And it's right about the railway. I know Captain Drake meant tobuild it; he talked a lot about it, and he brought gentlemen down tolook round the place; they pretended to be fishing, but we knew whatthey wur up to. Mr. George ain't clever like his uncle. He made a vuleof hisself when he said the American gentleman come here to buy a pairof vases--all the way from America to buy a bit o' cloam! Everybody knewhe'd come about the railway. Mr. George ain't clever--that's a surething. He can't talk so as to deceive a child. 'Twas the Americangentleman what put him up to the idea o' turning this house into theterminus. He would never ha' thought of it."