Astounding! Everybody knew or guessed everything! How?
Big James wagged his head and his grandiose beard, now more grey than black, and he fingered his apron.
“I believe in herbs myself,” said Big James. “But this here softening of the brain—well—”
That was it! Softening of the brain! What the doctor had not told him he had learned from Big James. How it happened that Big James was in a position to tell him he could not comprehend. But he was ready now to believe that the whole town had acquired by magic the information which fate or original stupidity had kept from him alone... Softening of the brain!
“Perhaps I’m making too bold, sir,” Big James went on. “Perhaps it’s not so bad as that. But I did hear—”
Edwin nodded confirmingly.
“You needn’t talk about it,” he murmured, indicating the first floor by an upward movement of the head.
“That I shall not, sir,” Big James smoothly replied, and proceeded in the same bland tone: “And what’s more, never will I raise my voice in song again! James Yarlett has sung his last song.”
There was silence. Edwin, accustomed though he was to the mildness of Big James’s deportment, did not on the instant grasp that the man was seriously announcing a solemn resolve made under deep emotion. But as he understood, tears came into Edwin’s eyes, and he thrilled at the swift and dramatic revelation of the compositor’s feeling for his employer. Its impressiveness was overwhelming and it was humbling. Why this excess of devotion?
“I don’t say but what he had his faults like other folk,” said Big James. “And far be it from me to say that you, Mr Edwin, will not be a better master than your esteemed father. But for over twenty years I’ve worked for him, and now he’s gone, never will I lift my voice in song again!”