Part 30 (1/2)

Next morning, Hester--who meanwhile had learned the truth--found the old fellow in the same cheerful, incredulous frame of mind. She might have told him how serious was his case; but it is improbable that she could have convinced him, and, moreover, Mr. Benny, before confiding to her the reason of his own dismissal, had made her promise to keep it a secret.

By Sat.u.r.day, however, it was generally known that Mr. Sam had found some excuse or other to get rid of his father's confidential clerk. Now Mr.

Benny had hitherto brought down Nicky's weekly wages on Sat.u.r.day evenings as he crossed by the ferry. This week no Mr. Benny appeared, nor any messenger from Hall; and consequently on Sunday morning early Nicky donned a clean s.h.i.+rt-front and marched up to the house to claim his due.

”I make it a rule,” said Mr. Sam, ”to dispense no moneys on the Sabbath.”

”The ferry charges double on the Sabbath, as you call it,” answered Nicky, ”and always has. I don't see where your squeamishness begins.

Hows'ever, I'll call to-morrow rather than hurt any man's conscience; only let's have it clear when the money's to be paid in futur'.”

”In future?” echoed Mr. Sam. ”I hoped I had made it clear that after this week you cease to be ferryman.”

”That's a good joke, now,” said Nicky.

”I am glad you take it so pleasantly. Come to me to-morrow, and you shall be paid; and again next Sat.u.r.day, after you have chained up for the night.

That, I warn you, will be the last time.”

”Oh, you'll think better of it by Sat.u.r.day!”

That Mr. Sam did not think better of it scarcely needs to be said; and during the next few days some of Nicky's confidence began to ooze away.

His master made no sign; he could not hear that anyone had been engaged in his place, or that anyone had been proposed for the job, but this silence somehow disconcerted rather than rea.s.sured him. He discussed it with his neighbour Hosken (one of the few small freeholders in the parish, who along with a cottage and two acres of garden had inherited a deep ancestral suspicion of the Rosewarnes and all their ways), and between them the pair devised a plan to meet contingencies.

The ferry closed at eight p.m. during the winter months. At half-past eight on Sat.u.r.day night Nicky again presented himself at Hall, and was politely received in the counting-house.

”Take a seat,” suggested Mr. Sam.

”Thank 'ee, sir,” said Nicky, somewhat rea.s.sured. This opening promised at least that Mr. Sam found the situation worth discussing. ”Thank 'ee, sir; but 'tis a relief to me to stand, not to mention the trousers.”

”Please yourself.” Mr. Sam paused, and appeared to be waiting.

”'Tis nice seasonable weather for the time of year,” said Nicky cheerfully, producing a large canvas bag and reaching forward to lay it on the writing-table. It contained his week's takings, mostly in coppers.

”Three pounds, twelve s.h.i.+llings, and ninepence, sir, if you'll count it.

There's one French penny, must have been put upon me just now after dark.

I can't swear to the person, though I can guess. The last load but one, I brought across a sailor-looking chap, a bustious, big fellow, with a round hat like a missionary's, and all the rest of him in sea-cloth. Thinks I, 'You've broken s.h.i.+p, my friend.' The man had a drinking face, and altogether I didn't like his looks. So, next trip, I warned the constable across the water, in case he heard of a seaman missing from the west'ard.

But this here French penny I only discovered just now, when I counted up the day's takings.”

”I fancy you must be mistaken,” said Mr. Sam. ”The man has a good character for honesty.”

”What? You know 'en?”

”He is the new tenant of Mrs. Trevarthen's cottage, and has come to take over the ferry.” In the pause that followed, Mr. Sam counted and arranged the coins in small stacks. ”Three-twelve-nine, did you say? Right.

But excuse me, there's one thing you've forgotten.”

Nicky understood. Very slowly he drew a chain from his left trouser pocket, detached two keys, and laid them on the table. His face worked, and for the moment he seemed on the verge of an outburst; but, when he spoke, it was with dignity, albeit his voice trembled.

”Mr. Samuel, you try to go where the devil can't, between the oak and the rind. Your father fought with men of his own size, and gave an' took what the fightin' brought; but as for you, you fight with women and children, and old worn-out men, such as the Lord helps because they can't help themselves. You han't beat us yet--not by a long way. I warn you to pray that the way may be lengthened; for 'tis when you've overcome us, an' the Lord takes up our cause, that your troubles'll begin.”

Small sleep came to Nicky Vro that night. What troubled him most in the prospect of the struggle ahead--for a struggle he meant it to be--was his position as Rosewarne's tenant. Mean as was his hovel above the ferry-- rented by him at four pounds a year--he clung to it, and Mr. Samuel would certainly turn him out. By good luck he paid his rent quarterly, and could not be evicted before Christmas. He had talked this over with his neighbour, Hosken, who had encouraged him to be cheerful. ”Drat it all, uncle,” said Hosken, himself the cheeriest of men, ”if the worst comes to the worst, I'll take you in myself, and give you your meals and a crib.”