Chapter 73
"To be respectable and save money."
"I don't want to be respectable. I don't want to save money, lad.
There's plenty do that wi'out me."
"But how will it be when thou grows old and sick, lad?"
"Why then, Tommy, I shall die; just the same as you will. I'm happy my way, lad. Thou'rt happy thy way. Folk say I'm a shack, and a blackguard, and a poacher. Well, let 'em; I don't keer."
"Nay, don't say that, lad," said Tom Morrison; "I don't like it. I'd like to see thee tak' to work and be a man."
"Ha, ha, ha, Tom! Why, I'm a bigger and a stronger man than thou art anyways. Nay, I don't keer for work. Let them do it as likes. I don't want boxing up in a house or a shed. I want to be in the free air, and to come and go as I like. I see no good in your ways. Let me bide."
Tom looked at him in a dull, careworn way.
"Why, look ye here, lad," cried Jock. "Here am I as blithe and hearty as a bird, and here are you, plod, plod, plod, from day to day, round and round, like old Michael Ross's blind horse in the bark mill. I look as hearty as a buck; you look ten years older, and as if life warn't worth a gill o' ale."
"I wean't argue with you, Jock," said Tom, quietly. "You must go your own gate, I suppose, and I'll go mine."
"Ay, that's it, Tommy."
"But if ever you like to try being an honest man again, lad, I'm thy own brother, and I'll give thee a lift best way I can for the old folks'
sake."
Jock Morrison left the window, and came like a modern edition of Astur of the stately stride round to the door, walked in amongst the shavings and sawdust, gave his brother a tremendous slap on the back, and then seized his hand and stood shaking it for a good minute by the old Dutch clock in the corner.
He did not speak, but half sat down afterwards upon the bench, watching his brother as Tom resumed his work.
"How's little wife?" said Jock at last.
"Not hearty, Jock," said Tom Morrison. "She's pined a deal lately.
Never got over losing the bairn."
There was a spell of silence here, and then Tom said quietly--
"Go in and have a crust o' bread and cheese, Jock, and a mug of ale.
The little la.s.s has been baking this morning."
"Ay, I will," said Jock, and thrusting his hands down into his pockets, he rolled like a great
PART TWO, CHAPTER NINE.
A CRUEL CHARGE.
Polly was busy at needle-work, and as the great fellow strode in and stood staring at her, she started up and seemed as if about to run away.
"You here, Jock, again?" she faltered.
"Ay! here I am again," he said, in a deep growl, as he fixed her with his eye, while she trembled before him and his fierce look.
"I'm glad--to see you, Jock," she said, faintly, and she glanced towards the door.
"That's a lie," he growled, and then he laughed grimly, but only for his face to darken into a savage scowl. "Tom said I was to come in, la.s.s."
"Oh, you've seen Tom!" she said, as if relieved.
"Ay, and he said I was to have some bread and cheese and beer."
"Yes, Jock," she cried; "I'll get it out."
She had to pa.s.s him, and he caught her hand in his, towering over her and making her s.h.i.+ver, as if fascinated by his gaze, as Julia Mallow had been a score of times.
"Stop!" he said, in a low, deep voice. "Wait a bit. I don't want the bread and cheese. Look here, Polly."
"Yes, Jock, yes," she panted; "but don't hurt me."
"Hurt ye!" he growled; "I feel as if I could kill thee."
"Jock!"
"Look here, Polly. I came to see Tom to-day to jump upon him, and call him a fool, and give him back what he's given me for not settling down and marrying and being respectable. I was going to laugh at him, and show him what his respectable married life was."
"I--I don't understand you, Jock," she said, faintly.
"It's a lie," he growled. "I was going to laugh at him, but, d.a.m.n it, he's so good a chap I hadn't the heart to mak' him miserable any more than he is about that poor bairn he thinks was his, and I--"
"How dare you!" cried Polly, flaming up, and trying to tear away her hand; but he held it fast, and, in spite of her indignation, she cowered before his fierce, almost savage looks.
"How dare I?" he growled. "Didn't young Serrol run after you at the house when you were at Mallow's? Hasn't he been after you ever since?
Isn't he every day nearly hanging about the river there fis.h.i.+ng, so as to come and talk to thee? Curse you!" he growled. "This is a wife, is it? But, by G.o.d, it shan't go on, for I'll take him by the neck next time he's fis.h.i.+ng yonder by the willow stumps, and I'll howd him underwater and drownd him as I would a pup."
"Oh, Jock, Jock, Jock," she cried, sinking on her knees.
"I will--I will, by G.o.d!" he cried, in a fierce growl; "and then you may go and say I did it, when they find his cursed carcase, and get me hung for drownding thy lover."
"It's a lie!" cried Polly, springing up and speaking pa.s.sionately.
"Cyril Mallow is no lover of mine. I hate and detest him, but never dared tell poor Tom how he came and troubled me. But I'll tell him now; I'll confess all to him. I'd sooner he killed me than you should insult me with such lies."
She made a rush for the door, and had reached it, but, with an activity not to be expected in his huge frame, Jock swept round one great arm, seized her, and drew her back, quivering with indignation.
"Let me go," she cried, pa.s.sionately. "Tom! Tom!"
"Howd thy noise," he growled, and once more she shrunk cowering from his fierce eyes. "Now then, say that again. S'elp your G.o.d, Serrol Mallow is nothing to thee, and never has been."
"I won't," she cried, pa.s.sionately, and she flashed up once more and met his gaze. "How dare you ask me such a thing?"
"Say it, la.s.s--say it out honest, la.s.s--is what I say true?"