Читать книгу The Parson O' Dumford - George Manville Fenn - Страница 17

“It’s all raight, lads,” roared Harry, in a voice of thunder. “Three cheers for Missus Glaire!”

The cheers were given lustily, in spite of Sim Slee, who, mounting on a pile of old metal, began to wave his hands in protestation.

“Stop, stop!” he cried; “it isn’t all raight yet. I want to know whether we are to have our rights as British wuckmen, and our just and righteous demands ’corded to us. What I want to know is—”

“Stop a moment, Simeon Slee,” said Mrs Glaire, quickly; and a dead silence fell on the crowd, as her clear, sharp voice was heard. “When I was young, I was taught to look a home first. Now, tell me this—before you began to put matters straight for others, did you make things right at home?”

There was a laugh ran through the crowd at this; but shaken, not daunted, the orator exclaimed—

“Oh, come, that wean’t do for me, Mrs Glaire, ma’am—that’s begging of the question. What I want to know is—”

“And what I want to know is,” cried Mrs Glaire, interrupting, “whether, before you came out here leading these men into mischief, you provided your poor wife with a dinner?”

“Hear, hear,”—“That’s a good one,”—“Come down, Sim,”—“The Missus is too much for ye!” were amongst the shouts that arose on all sides, mingled with roars of laughter; and Sim Slee’s defeat was completed by Harry, the big hammerman, who, incited thereto by Banks, shouted—

“Three more cheers for the Missus!” These were given, and three more, and three more after that, the workmen forgetting for the time being the object they had in view in the defeat of Simeon Slee, who, vainly trying to make himself heard from the hill of old metal, was finally pulled down and lost in the crowd, while now, in a trembling voice, Mrs Glaire said—

“My men, I can’t tell you how sorry I am to find you fighting against the people who supply you with the work by which you live.”

“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-instituted, irrepressible advocate of workmen’s rights made another attempt to be heard; but his time had passed, 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.