Great Britain -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction; Short stories, English; West Riding of Yorkshire (England) -- Fiction
“John’s as cast down as you’re set up, Arthur, wi’ the pomp o’ this
grand scheme o’ yours. You’re not the fittest man for a counsellor just
now--leaving out ye’re newly wed.”
“No?” said Monjoy with a laugh. “Fit or not, I’ve got a hillside of ore
to go at, and laid out the foundations of two furnaces, and got the
fire-brick made and the stone to the spot and men just starting to work
day and night. That was a ballad, if I remember; but never mind that.
You’re out o’ health, Matthew; perhaps you’ve some trouble we know
nothing of.”
“Finish your say.”
“Here’s Emmason going over to give Parker a neighbourly call. If all
Emmason wants is to put up a show of zeal, we can manage that for him.
An old die or two planted here and there won’t do any harm, and he can
give Cope a search-warrant, all as fair as the day. That’ll amuse Cope
in Horwick, and we’re not going to invite him this side of Wadsworth.”
“Have you finished?” Moon asked.
“Why, what ails you, Matthew?”
“Because if ye have, I’ll ask ye this: Who’s been watching Cope lately?”
“I’ve been watching something better worth while,” Monjoy returned.
“Maybe; but I’ll tell ye what I’ve seen, that won’t hurt ye to know. I
said before yon’s mind was as ill-shapen as his body; listen: he’s a
man-eater, and hyænas laugh like him. There’s no man’s blood in yon. He
lets ye shoot your spittle at him, and laughs just the same. What was it
he laughed at first in the ‘Pipes’? I see ye remember. I began to watch
him after that, and I’ll back my own wits against Emmason’s clot o’
sized warps, for all the fancy-work. I’ve seen him licking round at ye
all with his filthy eyes, choosing men to fit the white cap wi’ the
black strings on and reckoning how many widows there’d be. Ay, I’ve seen
his eyes feeding on _that_!--” He pointed suddenly to John Raikes’s
great neck.
“What!” cried Raikes, with a hoarse oath, starting suddenly up, while
his chair tumbled behind him.
“Ay, and he’s leered at Sally bringing in ale, and at Cicely, too, by
God!--We’ve no grand new furnaces in Horwick, but there’s odds and ends
to watch. They weighed him at the shearing: how many of us has he
weighed, and measured the rope for, with his watch in his hand?”
John Raikes gave a cry to drown his words. “Whisht, whisht!” he shouted.
“Ay, I’ve touched ye, have I? That’s Cope. Don’t trust my eyes; come and
see. Come and see the busiest man in Horwick. Ye’re going to bide what
happens, are ye? See ye don’t bide too long. What Emmason’s going to do
he must do quick, and James, that can talk his daft talk, must see to
it. Don’t tell me I’ve troubles ye know nothing about; ye’ve heard my
trouble.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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