Joe turned upon him savagely.
“Go away,” he cried. “I’ve done wi’ you. I thowt as Tom Podmore were a man, instead o’ one o’ them chattering maulkin-led fools; but thou’rt like the rest.”
Tom Podmore stopped short, with his brow knit, while Joe Banks passed on out of sight.
“He’ll find out, and believe different some day,” said Tom, slowly. “Poor old man, it’s enough to break his heart. But I wean’t break mine.”
As he stood, the noise of cheering came from where he had left Sim Slee talking, and he stood listening and thinking.
“They’ll be doing him a mischief ’fore they’ve done, and then they’ll end the old works. Damn him! I hate him,” he cried, grinding his teeth; “but I can’t stand still and let Sim Slee’s lot bruise and batter his face as they would till they’d ’most killed him. He’s soft, and smooth, and good-looking, and I’m—well, I’m a rough un,” he continued, smiling with contemptuous pity on himself. “It’s no wonder she should love him best, poor lass; but she’d better hev been a honest lad’s wife—missus to a man as wouldn’t hev said an unkind thing to her to save his life. But they say it’s womankind-like: they takes most to him as don’t keer for ’em.”
He stood thinking irresolutely, as the noise and cheering continued: and once he turned to go; but the next moment he was himself, and saying softly:
“Daisy, my poor little lass, it’s for thee—it’s for thee;” he strode hastily to the Big House, knocked, and was admitted.
“Tell Mr Richard I want to see him,” said Tom; and the servant-girl smiled pleasantly at the fine, sturdy young fellow.
“I don’t think he’ll see thee, Mr Podmore,” said the girl, “because he’s so cross about the foundry people. I’ll tell him a gentleman wants to see him.”