“Bah!” yelled Drinkwater, more furious than ever. “Oil! To smooth me down. But it’s too late now. It has meant years of oppression, and the end has come. But don’t think I mean to suffer like these cowardly worms. I too have been your worm for years, and the worm has turned at last—a worm that means to sting the foot that has trampled upon it so long. Here, what do you want, boy?” For Will had stepped forward, and thrust his hand through the man’s arm.
“You, James, old chap. You come away. Mr Carlile was right; you don’t know what you are saying, or you wouldn’t talk to father like that.”
“Let go!” cried the man, fiercely trying to shake the boy off; but Will clung tightly.
“No—come and take his other arm, Josh—here, come on up to the cottage, Jem. What’s the good of going on—”
Will did not finish his sentence, for a heavy thrust, almost a blow, sent him staggering back towards Josh, who had hurried up, and was just in time to save his companion from a heavy fall.
This was too much for Will’s father, whose calm firmness gave way.
“Yes,” he said, angrily, “it does now come to that! You talk of putting an end to the oppression under which you seem to writhe. It shall be so. I, as your employer, tell you most regretfully, James Drinkwater, that from this day your connection with the mill must cease—I will not say entirely, for it would cause me bitter regret to lose so old and valued a servant; but matters cannot longer go on like this. In justice to others, as well as myself, this must come to an end. You have always been a difficult man with whom to deal, but, during the past six months, a great change has come over you, and I am willing to think that much of it is due to some failing in your health. There: I will say no more. This shall not be final, James. I speak for your wife’s sake as well as your own. Go back to the cottage, and, if you will take advice, you will go right away for a month, or two, or three. You are not a poor man, as you have proved to me by your acts, by coming to your bitter tyrant to invest your little savings again and again. Now, sir, speak out as you did just now, so that all your fellow-workers may hear. Are not these words true?”
James Drinkwater stood alone out there in the bright sunshine, which glistened on his polished bare crown as he glared at his employer, whilst his hands kept on opening and shutting in company with his lips.
“Yes,” he uttered, at last, in a low, fierce growl, “that’s true enough. Why shouldn’t I? Do you think I want to end my days in the Union when you kick me off like a worn-out dog? Yes, yes, I’ll go; but look out. Long years of work have not crushed all the spirit out of your slave. Look out! Look out! The worm has turned, and the days are coming when you will feel its sting.”
He snatched himself fiercely round, and made for the stony slope—half-rugged steps—which led upwards towards the dam, and the Vicar hurried after him; but hearing his steps, the man turned and waved him back, before striding along till he stopped suddenly in the middle of the great stone dam, raised his clenched hands towards the sunlit heavens, and then shook them at the group below.