“Quite true, Mr. Oldshaw,” he answered, civilly, with imperturbable coolness. “It was let a fortnight ago; and the new tenant comes in—let me see—” referring to his papers—“on the 16th; this day week in fact.”
“And dost tha’ knaw, Maister Garrett, that Ah’re had ma mahnd set on Rishton Hall Farm for this twelvemonth and mair?”
“How could we know it, Mr. Oldshaw, since the farm’s been in the market more than twice that time, and we have never had any intimation from you of a wish for it?”
“We Yarkshiremen doan’t do thing’s in a hurry. But every mon in t’ village knawed Ah’d set ma heeart on t’ farm, and noo Ah’m to be t’ laughin’-stock o’ a’ t’ feeals i’ t’ coontry, and Rishton Farm let ower ma yead to a stranger as nawbody’s ever heeard on!”
And the farmer gave an apoplectic snort of malignant anger.
“Oh, but that is not the case, Mr. Oldshaw,” said the agent as quietly as ever; “Mr. Denison, the gentleman who has taken the farm, is a friend of friends of his lordship, and in every way a tenant of the most desirable kind.”
John Oldshaw calmed down suddenly, and into his small, bloodshot blue eyes there came a satisfied twinkle.
“A gentleman, ye say. A gentleman’s got the farm!” in a tone of the deepest contempt. “Thank ye, Maister Garrett, Ah’m quite satisfied. It’s not for me to grumble at his lordship, then. Ah can pity him. The’ never was t’ gentleman barn could do any good at farming, and if a gentleman barn’s got Rishton Hall Farm, all t’ ill I wish his lordship is—may t’ gentleman barn stick to’s bargain.”
And with these words, uttered in a tone of fierce triumph, the farmer, who had not removed his hat on entering the office, turned and stalked out with every appearance of enjoying, as he had intimated, a complete revenge.
The village of Rishton boasted two inns, both of the most unpretending kind. The larger and more important of these was the Chequers, a stone building of the simplest kind of architecture, to which were attached numerous small outbuildings, forming three sides of a quadrangle for Mr. Tew’s gig and Mrs. Tew’s hens. The Chequers stood just outside the gate of Rishton Hall Farm, and its windows commanded the approach from Matherham, the nearest market town, which was three miles away. On the 16th of January, the day of the expected arrival of the new tenant of Rishton Hall, John Oldshaw took up his stand at one of the inn windows, watching with malevolent eyes for the approach of his rival. It was a bitterly cold day, grey overhead and black under foot; and the frost, which had held for three days, was growing harder as the afternoon wore on. John Oldshaw, with a sense of keen disappointment, had at last to acquiesce in the general belief that the new tenant would not come to-day.