Mr. Tinker felt in anything but a Christian spirit when his niece so defiantly left the room, and he knit his brow in angry meditation.
“Am I never to be done with that Tom Pinder?” ran his thoughts. “I pick him up out of the workhouse; he knocks my overseer head over heels; he refuses the handsomest offer I ever made to anyone in my life; starts in business on his own account, and now, forsooth, has the audacity to try conclusions with me at the polling-booth. I’ve a good mind to let him have a walk-over. There’ll be no credit in beating him—that I’m sure to do but if by any chance he should head the poll—but that’s not to be thought of. I’ll give the cub something else to think of besides canvassing, or my name’s not Jabez Tinker. If a man will play at bowls he must expect rubbers.”
And as a result of his deliberations the manufacturer once more found himself in the office of Mr. Nehemiah Wimpenny.
“Come to sign your will, Mr. Tinker? It’s been ready for you this—I don’t know how long. I thought you’d forgotten all about it, and yet you seemed in a precious hurry about it when you gave me the instructions.”
“No, it’s not about my will I’ve come. That can wait, I think. In fact I may have to vary my instructions. I’m not quite satisfied with my niece’s conduct lately. But we won’t go into that at present. It’s another, a more important one.”
Nehemiah settled himself in his chair and gave all his mind to his client; but Jabez seemed for the nonce to have lost his usual promptitude and decision. He had to pick his words.
“It’s a question of water-right,” he said at last.
“H’m, ticklish things, very,” said Nehemiah. “Nothing more so.”
“So I’ve always understood,” said Jabez—“and costly.”
“Yes, costly. You might almost pave Holmfirth with the gold that’s been spent on law over disputes about water. But let me have the facts. Perhaps it may not be a complicated case at all.”