"Well, and you won't do it in the way you are going on," said Harrod, calmly. "You won't do so, unless you allow me to stock the farm with the proper machines, and to get the proper return of labor out of the men."
"What is the proper return?" asked father, his eye lighting up. "That I should get three times the profit the laborer gets? I'm not sure of it. My capital must be remunerated, of course; but I am not sure that that is the right proportion." His heavy brows were knit, his hair was more aggressive than ever, his lower lip trembled.
Harrod stared. He had not yet heard father give vent to his theories, and he stared.
"And as for machines," continued father, "I don't choose to have them used, because I consider it unjust that hands should be thrown out of work in order that I may make money the faster. My notions may be quixotic, but they are mine, and the land is mine, and I choose to have it worked according to my wish."
"Certainly, sir," answered Harrod, stiffly. "Only, as I'm afraid I could not possibly make the farm succeed under these conditions, I would prefer to throw up my situation."
"Very good," said father; "that is as you wish." And he moved on into the house.
Mother looked at Mr. Harrod a moment as though she were about to beg him to take no notice, and to recall his hasty resignation. Her eyes had almost a supplicating look; but apparently she seemed to think that her appeal would be best made to father, for she hurried after him through the open door.
Trayton Harrod and I were left alone on the terrace. His mouth was set in a hard curve that was all the more apparent for his clean-shaven chin; his eyes seemed to have grown quite small. I was almost afraid to speak to him. He stood there a moment, with his hands in his pockets, looking out across the marsh where the coming twilight was already beginning to spread brown shades, although there was still a reflection of the distant sunset upon the clouds overhead. He looked a moment, and then he turned to go; but I could not let him go like that.
My heart had gone down with a sudden, sick feeling when he had said he must leave Knellestone. I can remember it now. I did not ask myself what it meant. I suppose I thought, if I thought at all, that it was anxiety for the welfare of the farm; but I remember very well how it felt.