'I've nawt seen many people, Jane, but sometimes I likes an' dislikes, as Nobby does, an' I doan' like him. An' I doan' like him to be nigh my girl; there's naw truth in him. I wish she'd say she'll hev naw more speech with him.'
'No, no, father, don't ask me that. I don't care for him, but I can't promise not to speak to him—I do! I do! Oh, father!' sobbed the girl, 'everything comes at once!'
The old man drew her head on his knee, and even his rough voice grew softer, talking to his 'little girl.' He bent and kissed her.
'I wish 'twere nawt so,' he said; 'but mebbe I'm wrong. Lord keep my little girl, an' we'll nawt fret, but be happy to-morrow.'
Another man came in with a big tread. It was the engineer, a hale, burly fellow, with a genuine, rollicking kindness. He tossed the boy into the air, pinched Jane's cheek, and gave his morning salutation in several lusty thumps on the stoker's back.
'Rippin' day this'll be, Adam,' said he; 'say t'won't, an' I'll shake your ribs loose. Just such a day's I like to breathe in; an' when I've set all night in my chair there, not sleepin' of course, but seein' that everlastin' old crosshead go in an' out, an' that wheel turnin' away just so fast an' no faster, I swear I do go to sleep with my eyes open; an' when it gets light such a day's this, I get up an' shake myself—this fashion,' giving him an extra jerk. 'Keep up heart, Adam; I know it, an' I don't know what Cowles is thinkin' of. I don't want to crowd you out, an' you ought to be the last one to go. I'd quit 'em for it myself, afford it or not, only 'twon't do you no good.'
'Merry Christmas, Mr. Grump!' cried Nobby, rubbing his eyes.
'You've slept over, my young 'un,' laughed the engineer; 'you're one day ahead. Of course the palty mill must run to-morrow. Mine don't, I warrant. My machinery runs on a fat turkey, twenty pound if he's an ounce. That's me.'
'Yes, and we've got a turkey too,' chimed Nobby.
'I warrant you have. An' he had as good an appetite when he was alive as anybody else's turkey; them fellows do gobble their grub quite conscientiously, fattin' 'emselves without knowin' or carin' whether rich or poor'll eat 'em. I'll bet yours's as fat an' good's Mr. Prescott's, or old Cowles's—damn him! No, I don't mean quite that, so near Christmas, but he ought to be choked with his own dinner, I'll say that. Keep up good heart, Adam; an' now clear out, every one! cut home to yer breakfasts! My watch now, and' I won't have one of ye round—scud! or wait a minute an' I'll pitch ye out.'