Mr. Honyman, in accordance with his instructions, called at the brewery on that morning, and was received by Mr. Tappitt with a sullen and almost savage submission. Mrs. T. had endeavoured to catch him first, but in that she had failed; she did, however, manage to see the attorney as he came out from her husband.
“It’s all settled,” said Honyman; “and I’ll see Rowan myself before half an hour is over.”
“I’m sure it’s a great blessing, Mr. Honyman,” said the lady—not on that occasion assuming any of the glory to herself.
“It was the only thing for him,” said Mr. Honyman;—“that is if he didn’t like to take the young man in as acting partner.”
“That wouldn’t have done at all,” said Mrs. T. And then the lawyer went his way.
In the meantime Tappitt sat sullen and wretched in the countinghouse. Such moments occur in the lives of most of us—moments in which the real work of life is brought to an end—and they cannot but be sad. It is very well to talk of ease and dignity; but ease of spirit comes from action only, and the world’s dignity is given to those who do the world’s work. Let no man put his neck from out of the collar till in truth he can no longer draw the weight attached to it. Tappitt had now got rid of his collar, and he sat very wretched in his brewery countinghouse.
“Be I to go, sir?”
Tappitt in his meditation was interrupted by these words, spoken not in a rough voice, and looking up he saw Worts standing in the countinghouse before him. Worts had voted for Butler Cornbury, whereas, had he voted for Mr. Hart, Mr. Hart would have been returned; and, upon that, Worts, as a rebellious subject, had received notice to quit the premises. Now his time was out, and he came to ask whether he was to leave the scene of his forty years of work. But what would be the use of sending Worts away even if the wish to punish his contumacy still remained? In another week Worts would be brought back again in triumph, and would tread those brewery floors with the step almost of a master, while he, Tappitt, could tread them only as a stranger, if he were allowed to tread them at all.
“You can stay if you like,” said Tappitt, hardly looking up at the man.
“I know you be a going, Mr. Tappitt,” said the man; “and I hear you be a going very handsome like. Gentlefolk such as yeu needn’t go on working allays like uz. If so be yeu be a going, Mr. Tappitt, I hope yeu and me’ll part friendly. We’ve been together a sight o’ years;—too great a sight for uz to part unfriendly.”
Mr. Tappitt admitted the argument, shook hands with the man, and then of course took him into his immediate confidence with more warmth than he would have done had there been no quarrel between them. And I think he found some comfort in this. He walked about the premises with Worts, telling him much that was true, and some few things that were not strictly accurate. For instance, he said that he had made up his mind to leave the place, whereas that action of decisive resolution which we call making up our minds had perhaps been done by Mrs. Tappitt rather than by him. But Worts took all these assertions with an air of absolute belief which comforted the brewer. Worts was very wise in his discretion on that day, and threw much oil on the troubled waters; so that Tappitt when he left him bade God bless him, and expressed a hope that the old place might still thrive for his sake.
“And for your’n too, master,” said Worts, “for yeu’ll allays have the best egg still. The young master, he’ll only be a working for yeu.”
There was comfort in this thought; and Tappitt, when he went into his dinner, was able to carry himself like a man.
The tidings which had reached Mrs. Tappitt as to Rowan having been seen on that evening walking on the Cawston road with his face towards Bragg’s End were true. On that morning Mr. Honyman had come to him, and his career in life was at once settled for him.
“Mr. Tappitt is quite in time, Mr. Honyman,” he had said. “But he would not have been in time this day week unless he had consented to pay for what work had been already done; for I had determined to begin at once.”
“The truth is, Mr. Rowan, you step into an uncommon good thing; but Mr. Tappitt is tired of the work, and glad to give it up.”
Thus the matter was arranged between them, and before nightfall everybody in Baslehurst knew that Tappitt and Rowan had come to terms, and that Tappitt was to retire upon a pension. There was some little discrepancy as to the amount of Tappitt’s annuity, the liberal faction asserting that he was to receive two thousand a year, and those of the other side cutting him down to two hundred.
On the evening of that day—in the cool of the evening—Luke Rowan sauntered down the High Street of Baslehurst, and crossed over Cawston bridge. On the bridge
