Mr. Tappitt found this to be very kind—and very sensible too. He gave no authority to Sharpit on that occasion to act for him; but he thought of it, resolving that he would set his shoulders firmly to that wheel as soon as he had carried through this business of the election.
But even in the matter of the election everything did not go well with Tappitt. He had appertaining to his establishment a certain foreman of the name of Worts, a heavy, respectable, useful man, educated on the establishment by Bungall and bequeathed by Bungall to Tappitt—a man by no means ambitious of good beer, but very ambitious of profits to the firm, a servant indeed almost invaluable in such a business. But Tappitt had ever found him deficient in this—that he had a certain objectionable pride in having been Bungall’s servant, and that as such he thought himself absolved from the necessity of subserviency to his latter master. Once a day indeed he did touch his cap, but when that was done he seemed to fancy that he was almost equal to Mr. Tappitt upon the premises. He never shook in his shoes if Tappitt were angry, nor affected to hasten his steps if Tappitt were in a hurry, nor would he even laugh at Tappitt’s jokes, if—as was too usual—such jokes were not mirth-moving in their intrinsic nature. Clearly he was not at all points a good servant, and Tappitt in some hours of his prosperity had ventured to think that the brewery could go on without him. Now, since the day in which Rowan’s treachery had first loomed upon Tappitt, he had felt much inclined to fraternize on easier terms with his foreman. Worts when he touched his cap had been received with a smile, and his advice had been asked in a flattering tone—not demanded as belonging to the establishment by right. Then Tappitt began to talk of Rowan to his man, and to speak evil things of him, as was natural, expecting a reciprocity of malignity from Worts. But Worts on such occasions had been ominously silent. “H—m, I bean’t so zure o’ that,” Worts had once said, thus differing from his master on some fundamental point of Tappitt strategy as opposed to Rowan strategy. “Ain’t you?” said Tappitt, showing his teeth. “You’d better go now and look after those men at the carts.” Worts had looked after the men at the carts, but he had done so with an idea in his head that perhaps he would not long look after Tappitt’s men or Tappitt’s carts. He had not himself been ambitious of good beer, but the idea had almost startled him into acquiescence by its brilliancy.
Now Worts had a vote in the borough, and it came to Tappitt’s ears that his servant intended to give that vote to Mr. Cornbury. “Worts,” said he, a day or two before the election, “of course you intend to vote for Mr. Hart?”
Worts touched his cap, for it was the commencement of the day.
“I don’t jest know,” said he. “I was thinking of woting for the young squoire. I’ve know’d him ever since he was born, and I ain’t never know’d the Jew gentleman;—never at all.”
“Look here, Worts; if you intend to remain in this establishment I shall expect you to support the liberal interest, as I support it myself. The liberal interest has always been supported in Baslehurst by Bungall and Tappitt ever since Bungall and Tappitt have existed.”
“The old maister, he wouldn’t a woted for ere a Jew in Christendom—not agin the squoire. The old maister was allays for the Protestant religion.”
“Very well, Worts; there can’t be two ways of thinking here, that’s all; especially not at such a time as this, when there’s more reason than ever why those connected with the brewery should all stand shoulder to shoulder. You’ve had your bread out of this establishment, Worts, for a great many years.”
“And I’ve ’arned it hard;—no man can’t say otherwise. The sweat o’ my body belongs to the brewery, but I didn’t ever sell ’em my wote;—and I don’t mean.” Saying which words, with an emphasis that was by no means servile, Worts went out from the presence of his master.
“That man’s turning against me,” said Tappitt to his wife at breakfast time, in almost mute despair.
“What! Worts?” said Mrs. Tappitt.
“Yes;—the ungrateful hound. He’s been about the place almost ever since he could speak, for more than forty years. He’s had two pound a week for the last ten years;—and now he’s turning against me.”
“Is he going over to Rowan?”
“I don’t know where the d⸺ he’s going. He’s going to vote for Butler Cornbury, and that’s enough for me.”
“Oh, T., I wouldn’t mind that; especially not just now. Only think what a help he’ll be to that man!”
“I tell you he shall walk out of the brewery the week after this, if he votes for Cornbury. There isn’t room for two opinions here, and I won’t have it.”
For a moment or two Mrs. Tappitt sat mute, almost in despair. Then she took courage and spoke out.
“T.,” said she, “it won’t do.”
“What won’t do?”
“All this won’t do. We shall be ruined and left without a home. I don’t mind myself; I never did; but think of the girls! What would they
