"It's bad enough, Jim," said Mrs. Podmore, relieved of her fear; "but it would ha' been worse if you was to blame. It ain't your fault?"
"It ain't my fault--no; but it might ha' been--it might ha' been. It warn't his fault, either."
"Whose, then, Jim?"
"Whose?" he exclaims. "When a lot o' directors--works a feller--till he's--dead beat--till blue lights--and green lights--and red lights--dances afore his eyes--and he don't know what is real--and what is fancy--is he to be made--accountable? Dick Hart--him as had the accident--wouldn't lift his finger--agin man or child--and now he's killed--two or three--and 'll be made--accountable. I never saw--such a face--as his'n--to-night--when the people that was hurt--was brought in. It was as white--as a bit o' chalk. He was hurt as much as them. There was a child among 'em--a little girl"--(his voice breaks here, and his eyes wander to Pollypod)--"they didn't know what--was the matter with her. She breathed--and that was all. Dick Hart--(he's got a little girl hisself, mother--and he wouldn't lift his finger--agin any man)--Dick Hart--he trembles--and cries--when he sees the little thing--a-laying so still--and he whispers to a mate--as how he wishes--some one--'d come and strike him dead--where he stands. As he says this--the little thing's mother--runs in wild-like--and cries, 'Where's the man--as killed my child?' And Dick Hart runs away--on the platform--and jumps on to the rails--scared and mad--and if he hadn't been stopped--would ha' made away--with hisself--somehow. But they stopped him--in time--and brought him back. Another minute--and he'd ha' been cut to pieces--by a train--that was coming in. They had to keep--tight hold on him; for when he was in the room agin--and saw the little girl's--mother--on her knees by the child--he fell a-trembling--and looked more like a animal--than a man."
"What will they do to him, Jim?"
"The Lord knows! The law's pretty sharp--on us--for don't you see, old woman, the public's got to be protected. Lord save us! As if it was our fault! As if it was us!--the public's got to be--protected from! It's a pretty how-do-you-do--altogether, that's what it is."
"I pity his wife as much as him," says Mrs. Podmore, with all a woman's sympathy.
"She is to be pitied. She's near her confinement, too--poor creature!--and Dick, he's out of a billet now--and hasn't got anything--put by. I tell you what it is, old woman--it's hard lines--that's what it is--hard lines!"
"But the Company'll see to her, Jim, surely!"
"Will they!" exclaims Jim bitterly. "The Company'll pay you--pretty regular--while you work--and 'll work you--pretty hard--while they pay you;--that's what the Company'll do. You'd think--knowing, as they know--that Dick Hart's got a wife as is near her confinement--and knowing, as they know--that Dick Hart's wages is just enough to keep him and her--and his little girl--and that it's next to impossible--he could lay anything by--for a rainy day--you'd think, old woman--that now Dick's in trouble--the Company'd pay him his wages--till he got out of it! Catch 'em at it! That's not the Company's game. Their game is--when an accident occurs--to make out--that they're not accountable--and responsible--and that they're the victims--not us, or the public. The Company'll see to--Dick's wife--will they, old woman! Where's my pipe?"