English fiction -- 19th century; Labor unions -- Fiction
“While there's life there's hope.”
“What had I better do?”
“Nay, you shouldn't ask me.”
“Oh, yes: you advised me so wisely about the insurance.”
“Ay, but then I saw it clear. He is purse-proud, and I knew he'd think a
deal more of you if you insured your life for a vast o' money. But now I
don't see clear; and I'm loath to advise. Happen you'd hate me afterward
if it went wrong.”
“No, no, I wouldn't be so ungrateful.”
Jael shook her head, doubtfully.
“Well, then,” said Henry, “don't advise me; but put yourself in my
place. (I'll tell you a secret I daren't trust to Patty. I have found a
way to beat the Trades, and make my fortune in a year or two.) Now what
would you do, if you were me?”
This question raised a tumult in Jael's heart. But her strong will, her
loyalty, and, above all, her patience, conquered, though not without
signs of the struggle, a bosom that heaved somewhat higher, and a
low voice that trembled a little. “If I was a young man, I wouldn't
shilly-shally, nor wait till I was rich, before I spoke. I'd have it out
with her. I'd get her alone, and tell her all. Then, if she showed
any sign of liking, I'd beg her to wait a bit, and say I'd soon be a
gentleman for her sake. And if she cares naught for you, better know it,
and leave her, than fare in heaven one hour and in hell the next, as I
have seen thee do this while, my poor lad.”
“It is wise and good advice, and I'll take it. I've kept all my courage
for the Trades; I'd better have shown her a little. But there's one
thing more I want to ask you.”
This was too much. Jael's courage and patience failed her for once.
“Keep it,” she cried almost wildly. “I can't bear no more. There's not
one lass in a hundred would do what I have done for you: yet you want
more. D'ye think I'm not flesh and blood, as well as her?”
And she began to cry bitterly.
This took Henry quite by surprise, and grieved him. He consoled her, and
coaxed her, in vague terms, that did not produce any effect. So then he
kissed her cheek, and dried her eyes with his own handkerchief, and that
was not quite so ineffectual. She gave a final sob, and said, with some
slight remains of passion, “There, there; never heed me. It takes a deal
of patience to go through the world.” And so she left him.
He was not sorry to be alone a minute, and think. This short dialogue
with Jael gave him some insight into female character. It made him
suspect that he had been too timid with Grace Carden, and also that
there were two women in the game instead of one.
When the time came to return he asked leave to borrow a horse-cloth.
He aired it by the fire, and remarked that it had turned very cold.
“Why,” said Patty, “you have got your top-coat. Well, you are a soft
one.”
“And you are a sharp one,” said Henry, ironically.
When Jael came to the gig, Henry put the cloth over her shoulders.
“'Twasn't for me, ye see,” said he: “'twas for my betters.”
“I like you for that,” said Patty.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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