“A drap o’ beer!” ejaculated Old with a relieved laugh. “That’s what be the matter, be it. I d’ ’low, Jess, ye’ve a-had a drap too much a’ready.”
“I’ll take my oath I haven’t!” exclaimed Jess, much incensed at this undeserved accusation; indeed the mere suggestion appeared to intensify the longing which he was supposed to have partially gratified. “I haven’t a-had a glass to-day, Measter, nor likely to, seein’ it’s Friday, and my wold woman she do never allow I a penny at the back-end o’ the week.”
“’Tis because you do get through your ’lowance at the beginning,” returned the farmer, preparing to move on.
“Nay, now, bide a bit, sir—I’m dalled if I don’t sp’ake out as I said I would. There’s Measter Inkpen, what haven’t a-got so big a farm as you’ve a-got, an’ what b’ain’t a-layin’ by so mich money—well, when his men be a-workin’ so hard as what we be a-doin’ to-day, he do send ’em out some beer to the field. Martin Fry was a-tellin’ us about it—wasn’t ye, Martin?”
“Well,” said Martin uneasily, “I did hear some sich talk fro’ my brother James what works up to Inkpen’s, and I mid ha’ mentioned it, but I don’t want no argyment about it.”
“No need to have no argyments,” returned the farmer blandly. “Measter Inkpen have a-got his notions, an’ I’ve a-got mine. An’ I’ll tell ye straight out, my bwoys, I’ve got no notion o’ sendin’ out beer to folks what be a-earnin’ good wage an’ can buy for theirselves so much as is good for ’em. A man’s better wi’out it to my mind.”
“If that be your notion, Measter, I’m sorry for ye,” shouted Jess, whom the last remark had incensed beyond bounds of caution. “There, ’tis treatin’ your human fellow-creeturs worse nor the beasts of the field. Look at them cows yonder—ye’d never think o’ lettin’ them go dry. Wasn’t we standin’ up to our knees in muck last spring a-cleanin’ the pond for ’em. There’s one a-standin’ in it now a-drinkin’, an’ a-coolin’ his legs. I d’ ’low ’tis enough to make a body envy the dumb brutes.”
Farmer Old fixed him with his expressionless gaze.
“Well, Jess,” he returned, with a provoking mildness which added fuel to Jess’s wrath. “I b’ain’t a onreasonable man, I hope. I have no objection at all to your goin’ an’ standin’ in the pond to cool your legs and refresh yourself. ’Ees, I’ll allow ye five minutes.”
The men’s laughter rang out loudly at this sally; the distant rattle of the hay-rake ceased for a moment as Stuckey drew rein, and turned in his seat in the hope of ascertaining the nature of the joke. But Jess threw his rake from him, and turned upon his master with anger tempered by dignity.