In Mr. Furze's establishment was a man who went by the name of Orkid Jim, "Orkid" signifying the general contradictoriness and awkwardness of his temper. He had a brother who was called Orkid Joe, in the employ of a builder in the town, but it was the general opinion that Orkid Jim was much the orkider of the two. He was a person with whom Mr. Furze seldom interfered. He was, it is true, a good workman in the general fitting department, in setting grates, and for jobs of that kind, but he was impertinent and disobedient. Mr. Furze, however, tolerated his insults, and generally allowed him to have his own way. He was not only afraid of Orkid Jim, but he was a victim to that unhappy dread of a quarrel which is the torment and curse of weak minds. It is, no doubt, very horrible to see a man trample upon opinions and feelings as easily and carelessly as he would upon the gra.s.s, and go on his way undisturbed, but it is more painful to see faltering, trembling incapacity for self-a.s.sertion, especially before subordinates. Mr. Furze could not have suffered more than two or three days' inconvenience if Orkid Jim had been discharged, but a vague terror haunted him of something which might possibly happen.

Partly this distressing weakness is due to the absence of a clear conviction that we are right; it is an intellectual difficulty; but frequently it is simple mushiness of character, the same defect which tempts us, when we know a thing is true, to whittle it down if we meet with opposition, and to refrain from presenting it in all its sharpness.

Cowardice of this kind is not only injustice to ourselves, but to our friends. We inflict a grievous wrong by compromise. We are responsible for what we see, and the denial or the qualification should be left to take care of itself. Our duty is, if possible, to give a distinct outline to what we have in our mind. It is easy to say we should not be obstinate, pigheaded, and argue for argument's sake. That is true, just as much as every half truth is true, but the other half is also true.

Mr. Furze, excepting when he was out of temper, never stood up to Orkid Jim. He needed the stimulus of pa.s.sion to do what ought to have been done by reason, and when we cannot do what is right save under the pressure of excitement it is generally misdone. Orkid Jim had a great dislike to Tom, which he took no pains to conceal. It was difficult to ascertain the cause, but partly it was jealousy. Tom had got before him.

This, however, was not all. It was a case of pure antipathy, such as may often be observed amongst animals. Some dogs are the objects of special hatred by others, and are immediately attacked by them, before any cause of offence can possibly have been given.

Jim had called at the Terrace on the morning after the explosion with Catharine. He came to replace a cracked kitchen boiler, and Mrs. Furze, for some reason or other, felt inclined to go down to the kitchen and have some talk with him. She knew how matters stood between him and Tom.

"Well, Jim, how are you getting on now? I have not seen you lately."

"No, marm, I ain't one as comes to the front much now."

"What do you mean? I suppose you might if you liked. I am sure Mr.

Furze values you highly."

Jim was cautious and cunning; not inclined to commit himself. He consequently replied by an "Ah," and knocked with great energy at the brickwork from which he was detaching the range.

"Anything been the matter then, Jim?"

"No, marm; nothing's the matter."

"You have not quarrelled with Mr. Furze, I hope? You do not seem quite happy."

"Me quarrel with Mr. Furze, marm!--no, I never quarrel with _him_. He's a gentleman, he is."

Mrs. Furze was impatient. She wanted to come to the point, and could not wait to manoeuvre.

"I am afraid you and Tom do not get on together."

"Well, Mrs. Furze, if we don't it ain't my fault."

"No, I dare say not; in fact, I am sure it is not. I dare say Tom is a little overbearing. Considering his origin, and the position he now occupies, it is natural he should be."

"He ain't one as ought to give himself airs, marm. Why--"

Jim all at once dropped his chisel and his mask of indifference and flashed into ferocity.

"Why, my father was a tradesman, he was, and I was in your husband's foundry earning a pound a week when Master Tom was in rags. Who taught him I should like to know?"

"Jim, you must not talk like that; although, to tell you the truth, Tom is no favourite of mine. Mr. Furze, however, relies on him."

"Relies on him, does he? Leastways, I know he does; just as if scores of others couldn't do jist as well, only they 'aven't 'ad his chance! Relies on him, as yer call it! But there, if I wur to speak, wot 'ud be the use?"

It is always a consolation to incapable people that their lack of success is due to the absence of chances. From the time of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram--who accused Moses and Aaron of taking too much upon themselves, because every man in the congregation was as holy as his G.o.d-selected leaders--it has been a theory, one may even say a religion, with those who have been pa.s.sed over, that their sole reason for their super-session is an election as arbitrary as that by the Antinomian deity, who, out of pure wilfulness, gives opportunities to some and denies them to others.

"What do you mean, Jim? What is it that you see?"

"You'll excuse me, missus, if I says no more. I ain't a-goin' to meddle with wot don't concern me, and get myself into trouble for nothing: wot for, I should like to know? Wot good would it do me?"

"But, Jim, if you are aware of anything wrong it is your duty to report it."

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't; but wot thanks should I get?"

"You would get my thanks and the thanks of Mr. Furze, I am sure. Look here, Jim." Mrs. Furze rose and shut the kitchen door. Phoebe was upstairs, but she thought it necessary to take every precaution. "I know you may be trusted, and therefore I do not mind speaking to you. Tom's conduct has not been very satisfactory of late. I need not go into particulars, but I shall really be glad if you will communicate to me anything you may observe which is amiss. You may depend upon it you shall not suffer."

She put two half-crowns into Jim's hand. He turned and looked at her with one eye partly shut, and a curious expression on his face--half smile, half suspicion. He then looked at the money for a few seconds and put it deliberately in his pocket, but without any sign of grat.i.tude.

"I'll bear wot you say in mind," he replied.

At this instant the kitchen door opened, and Phoebe entered. Mrs. Furze went on with the conversation immediately, but it took a different turn.

"How do you think the old boiler became cracked?" He was taken aback; his muddled brain did not quite comprehend the situation, but at last he managed to stammer out that he did not know, and Mrs. Furze retired.

Jim was very slow in arranging his thoughts, especially after a sudden surprise. A shock, or a quick intellectual movement on the part of anybody in contact with him, paralysed him, and he recovered and extended himself very gradually. Presently, however, his wits returned, and he concluded that the pretext of the shop and business mismanagement was but very partially the cause of Mrs. Furze's advances. He knew that although Mr. Furze was restive under Tom's superior capacity, there was no doubt whatever of his honesty and ability. Besides, if it was business, why did the mistress interfere? Why did she thrust herself upon him?--"coming down 'ere a purpose," thought Mr. Orkid Jim. "No, no, it ain't business," and, delighted with his discovery so far, and with the conscious exercise of mental power, he smote the bricks with more vigour than ever.

"Good-bye, Phoebe," said Catharine, looking in at the door.

"Good-bye, Miss," said Phoebe, running out; "hope you'll enjoy yourself: I wish I were going with you."

"Where is she a-goin'?" asked Jim, when Phoebe returned.

"Chapel Farm."

"Oh, is she? Wot, goin' there agin! She's oftener there than here. Not much love lost 'twixt her and the missus, is there?"

Phoebe was uncommunicative, and went on with her work.

"I say, Phoebe, has Catchpole been up here lately?"

"Why do you want to know? What is it to you?"

"Now, my beauty, wot is it to me? Why, in course it's nothin' to me; but you know he's been here."

"Well, then, he hasn't."

Phoebe, going to bed, had seen Tom and Catharine outside the gate.

"Wy, now, I myself see'd 'im out the night afore last, and I'd swear he come this way afore he went home."

"He did not come in; he only brought Miss Catharine back from church: she'd gone there alone."

Jim dropped his chisel. The three events presented themselves together--Tom's escort of Catharine, the interview with Mrs. Furze, and the departure to Chapel Farm. He was excited, and his excitement took the form of a sudden pa.s.sion for Phoebe.

"You're ten times too 'ansom for that chap," he cried, and turning suddenly, he caught her with one arm round her waist. She strove to release herself with great energy, and in the struggle he caught his foot in his tool basket and fell on the floor, cutting his head severely with a brick. Phoebe was out of the kitchen in an instant.

"You d.a.m.ned cat!" growled he, "I'll be even with you and your Master Tom!

I know all about it now."