TO say that the service of the bill in Chancery on Tom was like a bolt from the blue would be but feebly to describe the consternation with which he perused the portentous document, and in time realized its meaning and effect. Tom was absolutely unconscious that either in thought, word, or deed he had wronged any of his neighbours below stream. He had not, to his knowledge, turned more dye-water into the river, or taken more pure water from it than the reasonable working of his mill demanded, and had been afore-time accustomed by his predecessor. He had received no complaint from Mr. Tinker, no request for abatement of any nuisance he might unwittingly have committed, or infringement he might innocently have caused, Nehemiah Wimpenny in his zeal to do his client’s behests, and in the animus he himself cherished against Tom, had even pretermitted the usual letter of courtesy preceding the firing of the first shot, the letter which in litigation is like the pourparlers of ambassadors preparatory to the formal declaration of war—an omission by the way, which Nehemiah had subsequent occasion to repent in sack-cloth and ashes. But for the present Nehemiah was jubilant and elate. Affidavits simply rained upon Tom. Photographers and surveyors swarmed about the banks of the Holme above and below Co-op Mill, and its waters were analysed and tested qualitatively and quantitatively as though the fate of empires depended on the issue. It was plain that Wimpenny meant to press the motion for an interim injunction, the effect of which would be to stop, if but temporarily, the work at Co-op Mill, and would of itself be as disastrous to its tenant as a final decree after full trial.
Tom and Ben discussed the situation in all its bearings.
“Aw’ll tell yo’ what it is,” said Ben, “it’s nowt but spite. Aw’ve known this stream, man and boy, for ovver fifty year, an’ th’ Co-op Mill as mony. An’ a hangel fro’ heaven couldn’t mak’ me believe as we’n done owt ’at Jabez Tinker’s a reight to complain on. It’s nowt but spite, Tom, it’s th’ owd tale ovver agen o’ th’ wolf an’ th’ lamb. He meeans to eit us up flesh an’ bone, that’s th’ long an’ th’ short on it. An’ what for? That lays ovver me entirely. Tha’s nivver crossed him i’ owt, has ta, Tom?”
And then, for the first time Tom told his friend of the offer Tinker had made to him at the close of his apprenticeship.
“An’ what didn’t ta tak’ th’ shop for, Tom? It ’ud ha’ been a seet easier for thee nor startin’ at th’ Co-op?”
“Well, you see Ben, we’d made all our arrangements and—”
“Aye, aye, aw see, lad, tha wer’ feeart aw sud think tha’d thrown me ovver. Eh, lad, me and yar Hannah an’ Lucy too, for that matter, ’ud ha’ gone to th’ big house afore yo’ sud ha’ gone agen yo’r best interests for us.”
“Oh, nonsense, Ben. I preferred the Co-op scheme. I never enjoyed my life so much as I have done since we went into it, and I shall never cast a regretful thought over either the labour or the wee bit money it has cost me. What worries me, Ben, so I can’t sleep o’nights, is the thought of the men who have joined us and put their life-savings into the concern. I shall never hold up my head again if they are to lose their money through their confidence in me.”
“And i’ me, Tom, i’ me, too. Yo’ see, lad, yo’ wer’ i’ a manner o’ speikin’ a stranger; but they’d known me all my life. But aw’m nooan feeart they’ll blame oather on us, after th’ first shock’s ovver. But if they dunnot ma’ Jabez Tinker sweeat for this job, they’re nooan th’ lad’s aw tak’ ’em for. If yo’ know onybody ’at’s interested i’ insurance companies just yo’ tell ’em to fight shy o’ Wilberlee Mill,” answered Ben savagely.
“That’s nonsense, Ben, and yo know it. Now what’s to be done?”