“I’ve a-heerd o’ folks going on strike before, but I will say I did never hear of a man what acted so goodnatured. There, most strikers do look on the masters as they’ve a-left, as regular enemies. ’Tisn’t many as ’ud offer to do a good turn on a busy day same as you be a-doin’. Your missus did ought to allow ye a glass o’ beer to-day,” continued the farmer handsomely. “I’m sure ye do deserve it.”
“Well, I’m dalled,” growled Jess, under his breath, however, for he had sufficient self-respect to accept the situation. He walked away with as jaunty an air as he could assume, and the farmer stood watching him for a moment or two, shaking with silent laughter.
Jess passed a very dismal Sunday. His friends looked at him askance, for his conduct had occasioned much talk, and he was regarded in that little community in the light of a dangerous firebrand. His missus lost no opportunity of impressing upon him her views of his recent action; Farmer Old passed him with a smile which he could not but think savoured of malicious triumph, and Martin Fry, whom he chanced to encounter on his way from church, delivered it as his opinion that he had made a sammy of himself.
The very indignation provoked by this remark, which, as he thought, came ill from the man whose incautious speech had first evoked in his hearers a sense of personal ill-usage, suggested to Jess a new plan of action. Why not offer his services to Mr Inkpen, who would know so well how to reward them? He could not but feel gratified at the thought that it was in vaunting his generosity, and in endeavouring to force Old to follow his example, that Jess had lost his place.
He strolled round to Inkpen’s premises at a convenient hour of the evening, when he would be likely to find the master disengaged. Fortune seemed to favour him: Mr Inkpen, very much at ease in snowy Sabbath shirt sleeves, was leaning across his gate, smoking a ruminative pipe.
“Fine evenin’, sir,” began Jess.
The farmer nodded a trifle sourly.
“Ye haven’t a-got all your hay in yet, I see,” proceeded Domeny.
Mr Inkpen removed his pipe from his mouth.
“I’d like to know what business it be o’ yours whether I’ve a-got it in, or whether I haven’t?” he returned, with what seemed to Jess uncalled-for asperity.