Max looked at the wretch with scorn and loathing, and involuntarily stretched out his arms to bar access to the door behind him. Several of Baker’s associates grunted applause at the husband’s valorous determination; but the majority of the room’s occupants were not yet in a state to be without some feeling of humanity, and these raised a murmur of shame, of which Max took quick advantage. It had become evident to the boy that his visit to the “Jolly Dog” on behalf of Bell would do more harm than good if it sent Baker to her side while she lay unprotected.
“Yes,” cried Max, taking the word from a stout, good-natured looking man near to him, “it would be a shame, wouldn’t it, not to do all one could for poor Mrs. Baker? You know how a burn hurts, even a little one; so you can guess how she feels now.” The boy paused, longing for some inspiration which might serve to delay Joe’s departure. Dr. Brenton might be home by now—would be sure, at the earliest moment, to hasten after his son. If only Max could hinder Baker from leaving the “Jolly Dog” until such time as he might be pretty sure of finding his wife protected by the Doctor’s presence!
“You’ve been ’elping ’er yerself, master, maybe?” asked the stout man, pointing to Max’s bag of “tools”.
“I’ve tried,” said Max briefly.
“Then I say as you’re a rare sort for a bit of a younker. Ain’t ’e now, mates?”
Max was surprised, and a little relieved, to hear a chorus of approbation.
“An’ I’m blest if we don’t drink yer ’ealth wi’ three times three. ’Ere, ’Arry, set the young Doc’ in the middle o’ the table there, an’ fill ’im a mug to ’isself.”
In a moment Max, lifted like a feather by ’Arry, the giant of Woodend, found himself on the table, and raised above the heads of the village revellers. A foaming mug was offered to him by the stout man, whom the others called Jack.
“Thanks,” said the boy, taking a drink, and handing back the mug; “I was thirsty. You’ve reminded me that I’ve missed my tea, but it will come just as handy later. Before I go, let’s have a lark together. Make Baker sit down, some of you; and I’ll call on Hal Tatton for a song.”
Baker was dragged back to his corner by half a dozen hands, and the men gazed curiously at the brave, boyish figure standing erect and masterful on the big deal table. He was so far removed from themselves in person, in bearing, in habit; his voice echoed with so plucky a note, and his eyes met theirs with so bright an intelligence. What manner of converse could they hold with a lad like this?