Thomas did not like the reminiscence. “What other be I saying!” he snarled. “He’ve no bowels even for his own flesh and blood! Did’ee ever watch him in church? Well, where be he a-looking? At his son’s moniment as is at his elbow? Never see him, never see him, not once!”
“Well, I dunno as I ’ave, either,” Fewtrell admitted.
“No, his eyes is allus on t’other side, a-counting up the Griffins before him, and filling himself up wi’ pride.”
“Dunno as I couldn’t see it another way,” said the bailiff thoughtfully.
“What other way? Never to look at his own son’s moniment?”
“Well, mebbe——”
“Mebbe?” Thomas cried with scorn. “Look at his darter! He ain’t but one, and he be swilling o’ money! Do he make much of her, James Fewtrell? And titivate her, and pull her ears bytimes same as you with your grand-darters? And get her a horse as you might call a horse? You know he don’t. If she’s not quick, it’s a nod and be damned, same as to you and me!”
Old Fewtrell considered. “Not right out the same,” he decided.
“Right out, I say. You’ve been with him all your life. You’ve never knowed no other and you’re getting old, and Calamity, he be old too, and may put up with it. But I don’t starve for no Squire, and I’m for more wage. I was in Aldersbury Saturday and wages is up and more work than men! While here I’m a-toiling for what you got twenty year ago. But not me! I bin to Manchester. And so I’m going to tell Squire.”
The bailiff grinned. “Mebbe he’ll take a stick same as before.”