Part 2 (1/2)

A crisis had come into Tom's life, and he knew it. Two forces were fighting in his heart, two angels were battling for his soul. At that moment it seemed as though his better angel were going to win the victory; he was on the point of telling Alice that he would never go into the Thorn and Thistle again, never speak to Polly Powell again, when he heard a familiar voice close to him.

”I say, Pollard, you are coming to-night, aren't you?”

Tom turned and saw a well-dressed young fellow close beside him. He had come to Brunford some three years before to learn the cotton trade, and during the last few months he and Tom had been very friendly. Tom was rather proud of this, because young Harry Waterman was his superior, both socially and from an educational standpoint. Waterman claimed to be the son of a squire who lived in Warwicks.h.i.+re, who had sent him to Brunford to learn cotton manufacturing because more money was to be made out of it than by sticking to the land.

Waterman was a tall, handsome young fellow, with a florid complexion and light-brown hair. He had met Tom at the Mechanics' Inst.i.tute Cla.s.ses, and the young weaver had been much flattered when the other had at various times discarded all social distinctions and been friendly with him. It was he who had laughed Tom out of going to the Young Men's Cla.s.ses on Sunday afternoon, and told him that religion was only fit for ignorant people and women. Waterman professed to have travelled a good deal, and had told Tom that after leaving an English Public School he had studied in one of the German Universities and taken his degree there. He had described to the simple Lancas.h.i.+re boy the life of Berlin, and Leipzig, Munich, and other German cities. Tom had been a willing pupil and thought what wonderful people the Germans were. He felt proud too that young Harry Waterman had evidently taken a liking to him. ”You will come, won't you?” went on Waterman; ”just the same lot, you know.”

”Ay, I think so,” said Tom.

”That's all right, then; we'll look out for you about seven.”

”Where are you going to-night?” asked Alice.

”Only with Mr. Waterman,” replied Tom.

”But where?”

”To a kind of club we have at the Rose and Crown. Come now, Alice, it's no use looking like that; you can't expect me to be a ninny.

Besides, Waterman's a swell, he is the son of a squire.”

”That is how you are going to spend your Sunday evening, then?” said the girl.

”Certainly,” replied Tom. He felt angry that Alice should interfere with his pleasures. Besides, he remembered that Waterman had once said to him that any fellow was a fool who allowed a woman to interfere with his pleasures.

”I see you have made your choice,” said Alice.

”Look here, Alice,” said Tom angrily, ”if you mean that you expect me to behave like a Methody parson, I have. I mean to get on, and Waterman can help me; and--and---- I say, Alice, don't look like that!” for the look in the girl's eyes had almost destroyed the influence which Waterman had over him.

”I am going home now,” said the girl.

”May I come with you?” asked Tom.

”That depends,” replied the girl; ”either you must be as you were when I first walked out with you, or we must part.”

”You mean good-bye for ever?”

”Just that,” she replied. ”Oh, Tom, can't you see! Can't you see!

Won't you promise, Tom? I don't know anything about young Waterman; but I know he is not having a good influence on you, and, Tom, why do you want to break my heart?”

Still Tom was undecided. He wanted Alice more than words could say; he felt there was no girl like her in all the wide world, and he knew that the last few months had not done him any good. But there was another side. He was only a weaver, and he had been proud to a.s.sociate with Waterman, who was friendly with big manufacturers. But to give up Alice? No, he could not do that. He heard a loud laugh close by his side, and walking towards the Band-stand he saw Polly Powell with Jim Dixon.

Yes, Alice looked pale and bloodless beside Polly Powell. Polly had no squeamish narrow-minded notions. Polly loved a good joke and a laugh, and was not tied down to Sunday-school rule. The daughter of the landlord of the Thorn and Thistle caught Tom's eye.

”I shall see you to-night, shan't I, Tom?” she said, looking at him languis.h.i.+ngly, and then pa.s.sed on.

Alice had become pale almost to the lips, and there was a look of steady resolution in her eyes. ”You must make your choice, Tom,” she said.

Tom looked at her for a second, then cast his eyes towards the spot where Polly Powell stood. He felt madly jealous of Jim Dixon at that moment. What right had he to be with such a girl as Polly? Besides, why should he give up all the fun of life? Why should he become strait-laced and silly?

Alice Lister held out her hand. ”Good-bye, Tom,” she said, ”I see that your choice is made.” And then she walked away.