The Parson O' Dumford Part 63

I'm a man."

"You're a nasty drunken pig," exclaimed Mrs Slee.

"What!" he would say indignantly, "drunk! Heven't had a gla.s.s. I never have a bit o' peace o' my life. Tant-tant-tant all day long, driving me away from home. Ugh, you know nowt but nastiness. You always weer nasty. Go to bed."

Volume 2, Chapter XVIII.

SIM SLEE'S PATRIOTISM.

Then Mrs Slee would tighten up her lips, look as if she would like to box her lord's ears, and end sometimes by doing it, Sim appealing to "Moother" for mercy till she went upstairs, when Sim would get up from the floor, where he had thrown himself, and rub his ears till they ceased tingling, and end by winking to himself and performing the strange movements alluded to in the previous chapter.

At these times, in spite of the very liberal quant.i.ty of ale indulged in at his own and other people's expense, Sim's head would be perfectly clear; and knowing, from old experience, that as soon as he had lain down and gone fast asleep, Mrs Slee would get up and empty his pockets, he would proceed to conceal his money. Half-crowns were placed up the chimney, a half-sovereign on the ledge over a door, s.h.i.+llings in corners not likely to be swept, under chimney ornaments, and on the tops of picture frames, his great h.o.a.rd at this time being under an old scrubby geranium, growing--or rather existing, for it had long ceased to grow-- in a pot in the window--a favourite plant of Mrs Slee's, as she had kept it through the winter for years. So matted together were its roots, that if the stem were taken in the hand the whole of the earth came out quite clean in its basket of fibres, and beneath this, in the bottom of the pot, Sim had placed five golden sovereigns, nicely arranged round the hole, on the night after the riot, the geranium being replaced, and all looking as before.

The next morning Mrs Slee was up a long while the first, as usual, and as was her custom when Sim had been bad over night, she made a tour of the place, finding and gleaning up coins of various value, wondering the while where Sim obtained the money that she transferred to her ample pocket, hidden by drapery and folds at a great depth from the surface.

Just as she was finis.h.i.+ng, she caught sight of the pot, and saw that it had been removed over night, for the water that had drained into the earthen saucer had, when the pot was moved, dripped on the floor.

A grim smile overspread her countenance as she lifted pot and saucer together, and looked beneath, to see nothing. Even the pot was lifted from the saucer, and with like result, when, replacing it, the wet pot slipped, and Mrs Slee caught at the stem of the plant, with the result that she held geranium in one hand, pot in the other, and saw the five glittering gold pieces at the bottom.

She clutched them eagerly, and hid them away, replaced the pot, and then stood thinking.

"Where does he get his money?" she said, looking grimly. "I'll speak to parson."

Mrs Slee had been gone a couple of hours before Sim descended to partake of the breakfast placed ready for him, all the while battling with his infirmity.

It was one that always troubled him after a night's excess, for, though Sim's head was clear enough over night when he hid his money, the over-excited brain refused to act next morning, and a thick veil was drawn between the eve and the morrow. There was always the dim recollection of having hidden his money, but that was all; and in this case as in others, pot, door-ledge, pictures, all had pa.s.sed away from his memory, and there was a blank in answer to his oft-repeated question--"Where did I put that money?" It was a blessing in disguise for Sim, though he did not know it. But for this, and his wife's tenacious grasp of all she found, none of which went directly back to Sim, he would have been without a roof to cover his head years before, and many a pound that he accredited himself with having spent in gills of ale and standing treat had really gone into his wife's pocket.

"Well, this wean't do," he said at last; "money's gone, and I shall get no more out o' d.i.c.ky Glaire."

"He'll be pretty sick o' his lock-out by this time," said Sim, as he laced his boots. "That was a fine plan wi' them bands. It's kep the strike on, and it's easier than wucking your fingers to the bone.

Wonder how long they'll keep it oop. Well, here goes."

He went out, and had not gone far before he met the vicar, who stopped to speak to him; but Sim, to use his own words, "coot him dead," making his way right off through the town, where he stopped for a bit of bombastic "blather," as his a.s.sociates called it, on the success of their attack on Richard.

"He had the finest leathering he ever had in his life," said Sim.

"And what good's it going to do?" said one of the men, in a grumbling tone.

"What good? Open thee eyes, mun, and see for your sen. Good? It'll bring him to his senses, and he'll come round and ask on his knees for us to go to work, and then we'll mak' our own terms."

"And if he wean't come round," said another, "what then?"

Sim stooped to the man's ear, and whispered something.

"Eh, mun, but we wouldn't do that, would we?"

"Howd thee tongue," said Sim. "Wait and see. I've got a friend coming down to-day as can settle all these things. I'm going to meet him at the station, and he's going to stay here till things is settled."

"And who's going to keep un?" said another man. "I can't keep mysen."

"All on you, o' course," said Sim. "You keep a good heart, lad, and all will be as raight as raight."

"But that would be coming it strange and strong, man," said the first speaker.

"Strong diseases want strong doses, lad," said Sim, winking. "But don't you wherrit yoursen. There's them in the Brotherhood as is looking after your interests, and we shall all come off wi' flying colours."

"I dessay we shall," said the man, in a discontented tone; "but I want to hear them theer furnaces a-roaring agen, and the firemen's shovels rattling in the coals, and the bra.s.s a-c.h.i.n.king in the box o' pay nights. Dal the strike, I say."

"But it aint a strike now," said Sim, didactically. "Don't you see, it's a lock-out."

"It's all the same," said another, sulkily. "Theer aint no bra.s.s to tak', and the missus and the bairns is pined to dead wi' hunger, and starved to dead for want of a bit o' fire."

"But you get the society money," said Sim, indignantly.

"Yah! what's that to a man in full fettle! Just pays for bread, and you can't buy a decent weigh o' meat for fear o' waring it all at once."

"Yes," said another; "it's like club money when a man's sick and can't wuck."

"Raight enew, then," said another; "bud a man wants wuck as well as something to yeat. It's strange, coa.r.s.e weather for us as far as yeating and drinking goes. Why, my bairns heven't hed a bit of bootther sin' the strike begun."

"A man need be as tiff as a band to stand it all," said another.

"Ay, tough as a bont whong," said another.

"Well, I shall be a very poor creature," said another, "if this here's going to last. I'm 'bout pined to dead now."

"I shall flit and get wuck somewheer else."

"Iver get berry pie for dinner now, Sim Slee?" said another, alluding to a favourite luxury of Sim's, who was accredited with having stolen a neighbour's gooseberries to make the famous berry pie.

Here there was a bit of a laugh, a good sign, for the men seemed ripe for mischief.

"His missus gives him tongue for breakfast ivery morning," said another.

"Sim, come home wi' uz and hev a bit o' custard," said another, and there was a general laugh from the gaunt-looking men.

"Nice bit o' stuffed chine at my place, Sim," said another; and one after the other, men, whose fare had been bread and potatoes for many days, gave their great orator invitations to partake of the popular delicacies of the place.

"Tellee what," said big Harry, coming up, "I mean to have somebody's thack off if this game arn't soon over."

"I hadn't going to say much," said Sim, who had been standing with folded arms, looking contemptuously at the crowd around; "but, I say this--if I was to go on as you do I'd hate mysen. Wheer's your paytriotism? Wheer's your risings against tyranny? Wheer's your British wucking man rising like a lion in his might?"

"Yes," said a shrill female voice from a window, "but your British lion wucking man wants his dinner, don't he?"

There was a roar of laughter at this. "Yah!" said Sim, contemptuously.

"Why do I wuck mysen to death for you all, to be badgered for it?"

"I don't know," said the same voice from the window, sounding more shrill than ever, "but I know this, Sim Slee, that my bairns is all pining, while their father's doing nowt but walk about wi' his hands in his pockets, and if things don't soon change, some o' them as got up this strike 'll be put oonder the poomp, and if the men don't do it uz women will."