"Not again you, Missus," cried half a dozen.

"Yes, against me and my son--the son of your old master," said Mrs Glaire, gathering strength as she proceeded.

"You come back agen, and take the wucks, Missus," roared Harry. "Things was all raight then."

"Well said, Harry; well said," cried Tom Podmore, bringing his hand down on the hammerman's shoulder with a tremendous slap. "Well said.

Hooray!"

There was a tremendous burst of cheering, and it was some little time before Mrs Glaire could again make herself heard.

"I cannot do that," she said, "but I will talk matters over with my son, and you shall have fair play, if you will give us fair play in return."

"That's all very well," cried a shrill voice; and Sim Slee and his red waistcoat were once more seen above the heads of the crowd, for, put out of the gates, he had managed to mount the wall; "but what we want to know, as an independent body of sittizens, is--"

"Will some on yo' get shoot of that chap, an' let Missus speak," cried Tom Podmore.

There was a bit of a rush, and Sim Slee disappeared suddenly, as if he had been pulled down by the legs.

"I don't think I need say any more," said Mrs Glaire, "only to ask you all to come quietly back to work, and I promise you, in my son's name--"

"No, no, in yours," cried a dozen.

"Well," said Mrs Glaire, "in my own and your dead master's name--that you shall all have justice."

"That's all raight, Missus," cried Harry. "Three more cheers for the Missus, lads!"

"Stop!" cried Mrs Glaire, waving her hands for silence. "Before we go, I think we should one and all thank our new friend here--our new clergyman, for putting a stop to a scene that you as well as I would have regretted to the end of our days."

Mrs Glaire had got to the end of her powers here, for the mother stepped in as she conjured up the trampled, bleeding form of her only son; her face began to work, the tears streamed down her cheeks, and, trembling and sobbing, she laid both her hands in those of Mr Selwood, and turned away.

"Raight, Missus," roared Harry, who had certainly partaken of more gills of ale than was good for him. "Raight, Missus. Parson hits harder nor any man I ever knowed. Look here, lads, here wur a blob. Three cheers for new parson!"

He pointed laughingly to his bruised forehead with one hand, while he waved the other in the air, with the result that a perfect thunder of cheers arose, during which the self-inst.i.tuted, irrepressible advocate of workmen's rights made another attempt to be heard; but his time had pa.s.sed, the men were in another temper, and he was met with a cry raised by Tom Podmore.

"Put him oonder the poomp." Simeon Slee turned and fled, the majority of the crowd after him, and the others slowly filtered away till the yard was empty.

Volume 1, Chapter VIII.

DEAR RICHARD.

"Take my arm, Mrs Glaire," said the vicar, gently; and, the excitement past, the overstrung nerves slackened, and the woman rea.s.serted itself, for the doting mother now realised all that had gone, and the risks encountered. Trembling and speechless, she suffered herself to be led into the counting-house, and placed in a chair.

"I--I shall be--better directly," she panted.

"Better!" shrieked her son, who was pacing up and down the room; "better! Mother, it's disgraceful; but I won't give way a bit--not an inch. I'll bring the scoundrels to reason. I'll--"

"d.i.c.k, dear d.i.c.k, don't. See how ill poor aunt is," whispered Eve.

"I don't care," said the young man, furiously. "I won't have it.

I'll--"

"Will you kindly get a gla.s.s of water for your mother, Mr Glaire?" said the vicar, as he half held up the trembling woman in her chair, and strove hard to keep the disgust he felt from showing in his face--"I am afraid she will faint."

"Curse the water! No," roared Richard. "I won't have it--I--I say I won't have it; and who the devil are you, that you should come poking your nose into our business! You'll soon find that Dumford is not the place for a meddling parson to do as he likes."

"d.i.c.k!" shrieked Eve; and she tried to lay a hand upon his lips.

"Hold your tongue, Eve! Am I master here, or not?" cried Richard Glaire. "I won't have a parcel of women meddling in my affairs, nor any kind of old woman," he continued, disdainfully glancing at the vicar.

There was a slight accession of colour in Murray Selwood's face, but he paid no further heed to the young man's words, while, with her face crimson with shame, Eve bent over her aunt, trying to restore her, for she was indeed half fainting; and the cold clammy dew stood upon her forehead.

"Here's a mug o' watter, sir," said the rough, st.u.r.dy voice of Joe Banks, as he filled one from a shelf; and then he threw open a couple of windows to let the air blow in more freely.

"Don't let anybody here think I'm a child," continued Richard Glaire, who, the danger pa.s.sed, was now white with pa.s.sion; "and don't let anybody here, mother or foreman, or stranger, think I'm a man to be played with."

"There's n.o.body thinks nothing at all, my lad," said Joe Banks, sharply, "only that if the parson there hadn't come on as he did, you'd have been a pretty figure by this time, one as would ha' made your poor moother shoother again."

"Hold your tongue, sir; how dare you speak to me like that!" roared Richard.

"How dare I speak to you like that, my lad?" said the foreman, smiling.

"Well, because I've been like a sort of second father to you in the works, and if you'd listened to me, instead of being so arbitrary, there wouldn't ha' been this row."

"You insolent--"

"Oh yes, all raight, Master Richard, all raight," said the foreman, bluffly.

"d.i.c.k, dear d.i.c.k," whispered Eve, clinging to his arm; but he shook her off.

"Hold your tongue, will you!" he shrieked. "Look here, you Banks," he cried, "if you dare to speak to me like that I'll discharge you; I will, for an example."

Banks laughed, and followed the raving man to the other end of the great counting-house to whisper:

"No you wean't, lad, not you."

Richard started, and turned of a sickly hue as he confronted the st.u.r.dy old foreman.

"Think I didn't know you, my lad, eh?" he whispered; and driving his elbow at the same time into the young man's chest, he puckered up his face, and gave him a knowing smile. "No, you wean't start me, Richard Glaire, I know. But I say, my lad, don't be so hard on the poor la.s.s there, your cousin."

"Will you hold your tongue?" gasped Richard. "They'll hear you."

"Well, what if they do?" said the st.u.r.dy old fellow. "Let 'em. There's nowt to be ashamed on. But there, you're popped now, and no wonder.

Get you home with your moother."

"But I can't go through the streets."

"Yes, you can; n.o.body 'll say a word to you now. Get her home, lad; get her home."

It was good advice, but Richard Glaire would not take it, and his mother gladly availed herself of the vicar's arm.