Mr. Thornton saw a letter addressed to himself on the table. He
took it up and read it through. At the end, he looked up and
said, 'What are you waiting for?' 'An answer to the question I axed.' 'I gave it you before. Don't waste any more of your time.' 'Yo' made a remark, sir, on my impudence: but I were taught that
it was manners to say either "yes" or "no," when I were axed a
civil question. I should be thankfu' to yo' if yo'd give me work.
Hamper will speak to my being a good hand.' 'I've a notion you'd better not send me to Hamper to ask for a
character, my man. I might hear more than you'd like.' 'I'd take th' risk. Worst they could say of me is, that I did
what I thought best, even to my own wrong.' 'You'd better go and try them, then, and see whether they'll give
you work. I've turned off upwards of a hundred of my best hands,
for no other fault than following you and such as you; and d'ye
think I'll take you on? I might as well put a firebrand into the
midst of the cotton-waste.' Higgins turned away; then the recollection of Boucher came over
him, and he faced round with the greatest concession he could
persuade himself to make.
'I'd promise yo', measter, I'd not speak a word as could do harm,
if so be yo' did right by us; and I'd promise more: I'd promise
that when I seed yo' going wrong, and acting unfair, I'd speak to
yo' in private first; and that would be a fair warning. If yo'
and I did na agree in our opinion o' your conduct, yo' might turn
me off at an hour's notice.' 'Upon my word, you don't think small beer of yourself! Hamper has
had a loss of you. How came he to let you and your wisdom go?' 'Well, we parted wi' mutual dissatisfaction. I wouldn't gi'e the
pledge they were asking; and they wouldn't have me at no rate. So
I'm free to make another engagement; and as I said before, though
I should na' say it, I'm a good hand, measter, and a steady
man--specially when I can keep fro' drink; and that I shall do
now, if I ne'er did afore.' 'That you may have more money laid up for another strike, I
suppose?' 'No! I'd be thankful if I was free to do that; it's for to keep
th' widow and childer of a man who was drove mad by them
knobsticks o' yourn; put out of his place by a Paddy that did na
know weft fro' warp.' 'Well! you'd better turn to something else, if you've any such
good intention in your head. I shouldn't advise you to stay in
Milton: you're too well known here.' 'If it were summer,' said Higgins, 'I'd take to Paddy's work, and
go as a navvy, or haymaking, or summut, and ne'er see Milton
again. But it's winter, and th' childer will clem.' 'A pretty navvy you'd make! why, you couldn't do half a day's
work at digging against an Irishman.' 'I'd only charge half-a-day for th' twelve hours, if I could only
do half-a-day's work in th' time. Yo're not knowing of any place,
where they could gi' me a trial, away fro' the mills, if I'm such
a firebrand? I'd take any wage they thought I was worth, for the
sake of those childer.' 'Don't you see what you would be? You'd be a knobstick. You'd be
taking less wages than the other labourers--all for the sake of
another man's children. Think how you'd abuse any poor fellow who
was willing to take what he could get to keep his own children.
You and your Union would soon be down upon him. No! no! if it's
only for the recollection of the way in which you've used the
poor knobsticks before now, I say No! to your question. I'll not
give you work. I won't say, I don't believe your pretext for
coming and asking for work; I know nothing about it. It may be
true, or it may not. It's a very unlikely story, at any rate. Let
me pass. I'll not give you work. There's your answer.' 'I hear, sir. I would na ha' troubled yo', but that I were bid to
come, by one as seemed to think yo'd getten some soft place in,
yo'r heart. Hoo were mistook, and I were misled. But I'm not the
first man as is misled by a woman.' 'Tell her to mind her own business the next time, instead of
taking up your time and mine too. I believe women are at the
bottom of every plague in this world. Be off with you.' 'I'm obleeged to yo' for a' yo'r kindness, measter, and most of
a' for yo'r civil way o' saying good-bye.' Mr. Thornton did not deign a reply. But, looking out of the
window a minute after, he was struck with the lean, bent figure
going out of the yard: the heavy walk was in strange contrast
with the resolute, clear determination of the man to speak to
him. He crossed to the porter's lodge: 'How long has that man Higgins been waiting to speak to me?' 'He was outside the gate before eight o'clock, sir. I think he's
been there ever since.' 'And it is now--?' 'Just one, sir.' 'Five hours,' thought Mr. Thornton; 'it's a long time for a man
to wait, doing nothing but first hoping and then fearing.'