CHAPTER IV
_The Diplomatic Father_
Grice drove away down the lane in a curious temper. He was angry withhimself for wasting a couple of hours of his valuable time; angry withJeckie for having induced him to do so; angry with Farnish for hisincapacity and idleness; still more angry to find that it was hopelessto do what he might have done. He knew well enough that Jeckie had beenright when she said that he would never find a better wife for Albert;he also knew that after what he had just witnessed he would never allowAlbert to marry her. Jeckie alone would have been all right, but Jeckie,saddled with an incompetent parent, was impossible. "And if you can'tget t'best," he muttered to himself, "you must take what comes nearestto t'best! There's more young women i' t'world than Jecholiah Farnish,and I mun consider about findin' one. That 'at I've left behindyonder'll never do!"
Half-way down the lane he came across Doadie Bartle, busily engaged inmending the fence. Grice's shrewd eyes saw how the youngster wasworking; here, at any rate, was no slacker. He pulled up his pony andgave Doadie a friendly nod.
"Now, mi lad!" he said. "Doin' a bit o' repairing, like?"
"Merritt's cows were in there this mornin'," answered Bartle. "They comeup t'lane and got in to our clover, Mr. Grice."
"Aye, why," remarked Grice. "It'll none matter much to you how oftMerritt's cows or anybody else's gets in to Farnish's clover in a day ortwo, my lad. It's over and done wi' up yonder at Applecroft."
Bartle's blue eyes looked a question, and Grice laughed as he answeredit.
"T'bailiffs is in!" he said. "Come in just now. It's all up, lad.Farnish'll be selled up--lock, stock, and barrel--within a week."
Bartle drove the fork with which he had been gathering thorns togetherinto the ground at his feet, and leaning on its handle, stared fixedlyat Grice.
"Aw!" he said. "Why, I knew things were bad, but I didn't know they wereas bad as that, mister. Selled up, now! Come!"
"There'll be nowt left, mi lad, neither in house nor barn, stye norstable, in another week!" affirmed Grice. Then, waiting until he sawthat his announcement had gone home with due effect, he added, "Soyou'll be out of a place, d'ye see?"
Bartle let his gaze wander from the old grocer's face up the lane. Fromwhere he stood he could see Applecroft, and at that moment he saw Jeckieand Rushie standing together in the orchard, evidently in close and deepconversation.
"Aye," he said slowly. "If it's as you say, I reckon I shall. And Ibeen there six or seven year, an' all!"
"And for next to nowt, no doubt," remarked Grice, with a sly look. "Now,look here, mi lad, I'm wanting a young feller like you to go out wi' mycart--'liverin' goods, d'ye understand? If you like to take t'job on yecan start next Monday. I'll gi' you thirty shillin' a week."
He was quick to see the sudden sparkle in Bartle's eyes, and he went onto deepen the impression.
"And there's pickin's an' all," he said. "Ye can buy owt you like out o'my shop at cost price, and t'job's none a heavy 'un. Two horses to lookafter and this here pony, and go round wi' t'goods. What do you say,now, Bartle?"
"Much obliged to you, mister; I'll consider on it, and tell youto-morrow," answered Bartle. "But"--he looked doubtfully at Grice, andthen nodded towards the farm--"these here folks, what's goin' to becomeo' them? I've been, as it were, one o' t'family, d'ye see, Mr. Grice?"
"There's no fear about t'lasses," declared Grice, emphatically. "They'reboth capable o' doin' well for theirsens, and I've no doubt Jeckie'sgotten a bit o' brass put away safe, somewhere or other. As for Farnish,he mun turn to, and do summat 'at he hasn't done for years--he mun work.What ha' ye to do with that, Bartle? Look to yersen, mi lad! Come andsee me to-morrow."
He shook up his pony's reins and drove on. The encounter with Farnish'sman had improved his temper; he had been wanting a stout young fellowlike Bartle for some time, a fellow that would lift heavy packing casesand make himself useful. Bartle was just the man. So he had, after all,got or was likely to get, something out of his afternoon'sexcursion--satisfactory, that, for he was a man who objected to doinganything without profit.
But now there was Albert to consider. Of one thing George Grice wascertain--there was going to be no marriage between Albert and JecholiahFarnish. True, they were engaged; true, Albert, following the fashion ofhis betters, had, despite his father's sneers, given her an engagementring. But that was neither here nor there. Despite the fact thatAlbert's name appeared in company with his father's on the powder-blueand gold sign above the Diamond Jubilee Stores, Albert had no legalshare in the business--there was no partnership; Albert was as much apaid servant as the shop-boy. Now, in old Grice's opinion, the man whoholds the purse-strings is master of the situation, and he had the pullover Albert in more ways than one. Moreover, a shrewd and astute manhimself, he believed Albert to be a bit of a fool; a good-natured,amiable, weak sort of chap, easily come round. He had half a suspicionthat Jeckie had come round him at some time or other. And now he wouldhave to come round him himself, and at once.
"There'll have to be no chance of her gettin' at him," he mused as hedrove slowly down the village street. "He's that soft and sentimental,is our Albert, 'at if she had five minutes wi' him, he'd be givin' wayto her. I mun use a bit of statesmanship."
Occasion was never far to seek where George Grice was concerned, andbefore he had passed the "Coach-and-Four" he had conceived a plan ofgetting Albert out of the way until nightfall. As soon as he arrived atthe shop he bustled in, went straight to his desk, and drawing out aletter, turned to his son.
"Albert, mi lad!" he said, as if the matter was of urgent importance,"there's this letter here fro' yon man at Cornchester about that horse'at he has to sell. Now, we could do wi' a third horse--get yourselfready, and drive over there, and take a look at it. If it's all right,buy it--you can go up to forty pounds for it, and tell him we'll sendt'cheque on to-morrow. Go now--t'trap's outside there, and you can givet'pony a feed at Cornchester while you get your tea. Here, take t'letterwi' you, and then you'll have t'man's address--somewhere i' Beechgate.It's nigh on to three o'clock now, so be off."
Albert, who had no objection to a pleasant drive through the countrylanes, was ready and gone within ten minutes, and old Grice was glad tothink that he was safely absent until bed-time. During the afternoon andearly evening various customers of the better sort, farmers and farmers'wives, dropped in at the shop, and to each he assiduously broke the newsof the day--Farnish had gone smash. One of these callers was Stubley,and Stubley, when he heard the news, looked at the grocer with aspeculative eye.
"Then I reckon you'll not be for Farnish's lass weddin' yon lad o'yours?" he suggested. "Wouldn't suit your ticket, that, Grice, what?"
"Now, then, what would you do if it were your case, Mr. Stubley?"demanded Grice. "Would you be for tying flesh and blood o' yours up toowt 'at belonged to Farnish?"
"She's a fine lass, all t'same," said Stubley. "I've kept an eye on herthis last year or two. Strikes me 'at things 'ud ha' come to an endsooner if it hadn't been for her. She's a grafter, Grice, and no waster,neither. She'd make a rare good wife for your Albert--where he'd make apenny she'd make a pound. I should think twice, mi lad, before I saidowt."
But Grice's upper lip grew tighter than before when Stubley had gone,and by the time of his son's return, with the new horse tied up behindthe pony cart, he was ready for him. He waited until Albert had eatenhis supper; then, when father and son were alone in the parlour, andeach had got a tumbler of gin and water at his elbow, he opened hiscampaign.
"Albert, mi lad!" he said, suavely, "there's been a fine to-do sin' youset off Cornchester way this afternoon. Yon man Farnish has gone cleanbroke!"
Albert started and stared in surprise.
"It's right, mi lad," continued Grice. "He's gotten t'bailiffs in--he'llbe selled up i' less nor a week. Seems 'at he's been goin' tot'money-lenders, yonder i' Clothford--one feller's issued an executionagain him. Four hundred and eighty-three pound, five shillings, andsixpence! Did ye ever hear
t'like o' that? Him?"
Albert began to twiddle his thumbs.
"Nay!" he said, wonderingly. "I knew he were in a bad way, but I'd noidea it were as bad as that. Then he's nought to pay with, I reckon?"
"Nowt--so to speak," declared Grice. "Nowt 'at 'll settle things,anyway. And I hear fro' Stubley 'at t'last half-year's rent were neverpaid, and now here's another just about due. And there's other folk. Heowes me forty pound odd. If I'd ha' known o' this yesterday, I'd ha' hadsummat out o' Farnish for my brass--I'd ha' had a cow, or summat. Now,it's too late; I mun take my chance wi' t'rest o' t'creditors. And whent'landlord's been satisfied for t'rent, I lay there'll be nowt much fornobody, money-lender nor anybody else."
"It's a bad job," remarked Albert.
Grice turned to a shelf at the side of his easy chair, opened the lid ofa cigar box, selected two cigars, and passed one to his son.
"Aye!" he assented presently, "it is a bad job, mi lad. Farnish promised'at he'd gi' five hundred pound wi' Jecholiah. I think we mun ha' beensoft i' wor heads, Albert, to believe 'at he'd ever do owt o' t'sort. Hewor havin' us, as they say--havin' us for mugs!"
Albert made no answer. He began to puff his cigar, watching his fatherthrough the blue smoke.
"Every man for his-self!" said old Grice after a while. "It were anunderstood thing, were that, Albert, and now 'at there's no chance o'Farnish redeemin' his word, there's no need for you to stand by yours.There's plenty o' fine young women i' t'world beside yon lass o'Farnish's. My advice to you, mi lad, is to cast your eyes elsewhere."
Albert began to wriggle in his chair. His experience of Jeckie Farnishwas that she had a will of her own; he possessed sufficient mother-witto know that she was cleverer than he was.
"I don't know what Jecholiah 'ud say to that," he murmured. "We beenkeeping company this twelve-month, and----"
"Pshaw!" exclaimed Grice. "What bi that! I'll tell you what it is, milad--yon lass were never after you. I'll lay owt there's never been mucho' what they call love-makin' between you! She were after my brass,d'yer see? Now, if it had been me 'at had gone broke, i'stead o'Farnish, what then? D'ye think she'd ha' stucken to you? Nowt o't'sort!"
Albert sat reflecting. It was quite true that there had been littlelove-making between him and Jeckie. Jeckie was neither sentimental noramorous. She and Albert had gone to church together; occasionally he hadspent the evening at Farnish's fireside; once or twice he had taken herfor an outing, to a statutes-hiring fair, or a travelling circus. And hewas beginning to wonder.
"I know she's very keen on money, is Jecholiah," he said at last.
"Aye, well, she's goin' to have none o' mine!" affirmed old Grice. Hewas quick to see that Albert was as wax in his hands, and he accordinglybrought matters to a climax. "I'll tell you what it is, mi lad!" hecontinued, replenishing his son's glass, and refilling his own. "We munhave done wi' that lot--it 'ud never do for you, a rising young feller,to wed into a broken man's family. It mun end, Albert!"
"She'll have a deal to say," murmured Albert. "She's an awful temper,has Jecholiah, if things doesn't suit her, and----"
"Now then, you listen to me," interrupted Grice. "We'll give her nochance o' sayin'--leastways, not to you, and what she says to me'sneither here nor there. Now it's high time you were wed, mi lad, but youmun get t'right sort o' lass. And I'll tell you what--you know 'at Iwent last year to see mi brother John, 'at lives i' Nottingham--keep's adraper's shop there, does John, and he's a warm man an' all, as warm aswhat I am, and that's sayin' a bit! Now John has three rare finelasses--your cousins, mi lad, though you've never seen 'em--and he'llgive a nice bit wi' each o' 'em when they wed. I'll tell you what youshall do, mi lad--you shall take a fortnight's holiday, and go overthere and see 'em; I'll write a letter to John to-night 'at you can takewi' you. And if you can't pick a wife o' t'three--why, it'll be apity!--a good-lookin' young feller like you, wi' money behind you. Getyour best things packed up to-night, and you shall drive into Sicasterfirst thing i' t'mornin' and be off to Nottingham. I'll see 'at youhave plenty o' spendin' brass wi' you, and you can go and have yourfling and make your choice. I tell yer there's three on 'em--fine,good-looking, healthy lasses--choose which you like, and me and herfather'll settle all t'rest. And Nottingham's a fine place for a bit ofholidayin'."
Old Grice sat up two hours later than usual that night, writing to hisbrother, the Nottingham draper, and Albert went away before seveno'clock next morning with all his best clothes and with fifty pounds inhis pocket. His father told him to do it like a gentleman, and Albertdeparted in the best of spirits. After all, he had no tender memories ofJeckie, and he remembered that once, when he had taken her toCornchester Fair, and wanted to have lunch at the "Angel," she hadchided him quite sharply for his extravagance and had made him satisfyhis appetite on buns and cocoa at a cheap coffee-shop. It was a smallthing, but he had smarted under it, for like all weak folk he had a veinof mulish contrariness in him, and it vexed him to know that Jeckie,when she was about, was stronger than he was.
Grice, left to run the business with the aid of his small staff, waskept to the shop during Albert's absence. But he had compensations. Thefirst came in the shape of a letter from his brother, the draper, thecontents of which caused George Grice to chuckle and to congratulatehimself on his diplomacy; he was, in fact, so pleased by it that hethere and then put up L25 in Bank of England notes, enclosed them in aletter to Albert, bidding him to stay in Nottingham a week longer, andwent out to register the missive himself. The second was that Bartlecame to him and took charge of the horses and carts and lost no time inproving himself useful beyond expectation. And the third lay in knowingthat the Farnish Family had gone out of the village. Just as the grocerhad prophesied, Farnish had been sold up within a week of the executionwhich the money-lenders had levied on his effects. Not a stick had beenleft to him of his household goods, not even a chicken of his livestock, and on the morning of the sale he and his daughters had risenearly, and carrying their bundles in their hands had gone into Sicasterand taken lodgings.
"And none such cheap uns, neither!" said the blacksmith, who gave Griceall this news, and to whom Farnish owed several pounds and oddshillings. "Gone to lodge i' a very good house i' Finkle Street, wherethey'll be paying no less nor a pound a week for t'rooms. Don't tell me!I'll lay owt yon theer Jecholiah has a bit o' brass put by. What! Sheused to sell a sight o' eggs and a vast o' butter, Mestur Grice! Andthem owin' me ower nine pounds 'at I shall niver see! Such like i'lodgins at a pound a week! They owt to be i' t'poorhouse!"
Old Grice laughed and said nothing; it mattered nothing to him whetherthe Farnishes were lodged in rooms or in the wards of the workhouse, solong as Jeckie kept away from Savilestowe until all was safely settledabout Albert. He exchanged more letters with John, the draper; John'sreplies yielded him infinite delight. As he sat alone of an evening,amusing himself with his cigars and his gin and water, he chuckled as hegloated over his own state-craft; once or twice, when he had made hisdrink rather stronger than usual, he was so impressed by his owncleverness that he assured himself solemnly that he had missed his truevocation, and ought to have been a Member of Parliament. He thought soagain in a quite sober moment, when, at the end of three weeks, Albertreturned, wearing lemon-coloured kid gloves, and spats over his shoes.There was a new atmosphere about Albert, and old George almost decidedto take him into partnership there and then when he announced that hehad become engaged to his cousin Lucilla, and that her father would giveher two thousand pounds on the day of the wedding. Instead, hesignalised his gratification by furnishing and decorating, regardless ofcost, two rooms for the use of the expected bride.