“You’re likely throng, sir,” he finished, “and I’ll not keep you.” He put a hand to the latch. “Anyway, you’ll kindly take it as we’ll quit next year.”
Dent said—“No, Simon, I shan’t do anything of the sort!” and laughed when the other shot round on him again with open mouth. His expression was grave, however, as he ended his speech. “I want you to think it over a bit first.”
Simon felt his head going round for the second time. The red came into his thin face.
“I don’t rightly know what you’re driving at, sir,” he said, with a dignified air. “I reckon I can give in my notice same as anybody else?”
“Oh, Lord, yes, Simon! Of course.” Dent’s eyes went back to the notes. “Yes, of course you can.”
“Ay, well, then?” Simon demanded stiffly. “What’s all this stir?”
“Well, … it’s like this, you see … you’ve missed your time. It was due a couple of months back, as I said before.”
“Ay, but you’re not that hard and fast about notice, as a rule! Tom Robison did t’same thing last year, you’ll think on, and you let it pass. Seems to me you’re by way of having a joke wi’ me, sir,” he added, in a pitiful tone, “and I don’t know as it’s kind, seeing how I’m placed.”
Dent jumped to his feet and came across to lay a hand on his arm.
“It’s only that I’ve a feeling you’ll change your mind, Simon,” he said earnestly, “and you’ll be sorry if you’ve spread it about that you’re going to quit. A week, say—a week won’t make that much difference, will it? Can’t you let it stand over another week?”
“You said a minute back ’twas a pity we’d stopped so long! I can’t make out what you’re at, Mr. Dent—I’m danged if I can!”
The agent laughed and left him to stroll back again to the window, where he stood looking down into the full street.
“Perhaps we’re neither of us as clear in our minds as we might be!” he observed, with a cryptic smile. “The weather, perhaps; it’s only a dreary day. I’m not one of the folks who like November grey.”
“Tides is big an’ all,” Simon found himself saying, unable to resist the lure. “We’ve had t’watter up agen t’wall every night this week. Last night I went out for a look afore it was dark, but it was that thick it was all I could do to tell it was there at all. There was just summat grey-like lifting under my nose; but, by Gox! it was deep enough for all it was so whyet!”
Dent shivered at the drear little picture which the other had conjured up.
“I don’t know how you sleep,” he said, “perched on the edge of things like that! It would give me fits to have the sea knocking twice a day at my back door.”
“Ay, it knocks,” Simon said slowly, with a thoughtful air. “There’s whiles you’d fair think it was axing for somebody to come out. … You’ll mind yon time you were near catched by the tide?” he went on, after a pause. “Eh, man, but I was in a terble tew yon night!”
“It was my own fault,” Dent laughed—“not that it was any the nicer for that! I knew the time of the tide, but I’d forgotten the time of day. It was a day something like this, much the same dismal colour all through. Lord, no!” He shivered again. “I’ve not forgotten, not I! I’ll never forget pounding away from that horrible wave, and finding myself, quite without knowing it, back below the farm!”
“It was my missis saved you that night,” Simon said, “and a near shave it was an’ all! Tide would ha’ got you even then if it hadn’t been for her. We heard you hollerin’ and came out to look, but we couldn’t see nowt, it was that dark. I thought we’d fancied it like, as we didn’t hear no more, but Sarah wouldn’t hear of owt o’ the sort. She would have it she could see you liggin’ at bottom o’ t’bank, and she give me no peace till I’d crammelled down to look.”
“Well, you may be sure I’m grateful enough,” the agent said, as they shook hands. “I wouldn’t wish my worst enemy a death like that. I hope it’s been put to the credit side of her account.”
He followed this caller out as he had done the last, and again, leaning over the railing, he called “Good luck!” Simon, looking up, full of resentment, saw the face above him bright with smiles. He went out with offended dignity written in every line.
Part II
Eliza
I
It was two o’clock and after before the old folks left Witham. Simon had gone to his dinner on quitting the agent, and at his favourite eating-house he encountered others who wanted the hearse-story at first hand. He was not at all averse to talking about it by now, and after a good dinner it improved with the telling every time. Once more he forgot the interview of the morning as well as the coming one in the afternoon, and stayed smoking and talking and sunning himself in the fine atmosphere of success.
Sarah, however, had neither pipe nor admiring circle to soothe or enliven the heavy, dragging hours. She went into the inn after the “Ship” dogcart had rattled off, and tried to gather a little comfort from the parlour fire; but the glamour of the morning had departed with May, and now that she was alone she felt depressed and tired. The doctor’s verdict, which had passed her by at the time,
