“I’m not capped, lad; I feel t’ same way myself, and if all for my-sen’ was my motto I’d pay some decent body a toathri shillings a week to take him in and do for him—”
“If that was your motto,” interrupted Jagger, “you’d let him go to t’ Union.”
“If you and Hannah says he musn’t stop,” continued Maniwel ignoring the correction; “course he’ll have to go, and we’ll talk it over among ourselves and see what’s best to be done. But I’ll take to’t ’at I could like to try a bit longer. He’s lost his nasty tongue, and his temper’s had most o’ t’ fizz ta’en out on’t, and mebbe after a bit t’ sun’ll get through t’ crust and he’ll be more likeable. Now if you and Hannah could just bring yourselves to think ’at he’s a millionaire uncle ’at’s asked himself to stay wi’ us for a bit....”—he looked slyly into his son’s face and saw the mouth twist into a smile—“and ’at it ’ud happen pay you to put up wi’ a bit o’ discomfort for t’ sake—”
“That’ll do, father!” Jagger was laughing now. “I doubt if Hannah and me could manage as much as that. All we can expect Baldwin to leave us is his room, and that’ll be welcome. But we’ll say no more about it. If you feel t’ same way as us and are willing to put up with it Hannah and me’ll make t’ best of it.”
“Nay, lad, we’ll go on a piece further, now we’ve getten started. You and me’s partners and should know each other’s minds; and I’ve something to tell you ’at I once thought to take wi’ me to t’ grave. You’ll tell nob’dy else while either Baldwin or me’s living and after we’re gone there’ll be no need to say aught. Sit you down, lad!”
There was an unaccustomed note of gravity in Maniwel’s voice and a pained look in his eyes, which Jagger observed with surprise and uneasiness, but he made no remark and seated himself on a trestle where he could look into his father’s face.
Maniwel had hoisted himself on to the bench, and his hand played among the loose shavings for a while before he lifted his head and spoke.
“You know what your grannie says about t’ Briggses?—a black, bad lot, cursed wi’ meanness and low, underhanded ways. It was so wi’ Baldwin’s father and his father before him. There wasn’t a fam’ly on t’ moor ’at had a worse name than what they had, and it was t’ lad’s misfortun’ mind you, not his fault, to be born into such a lot.
“Him an’ me’s of an age. We picked up a bit o’ schooling together and we went marlocking together. I liked him as well as I liked Old Nick, but his folks were our nearest neighbours, and there wasn’t so many lads to laik wi’ up on t’ moor so we were forced, as you may say, to be mates. We fell out many a time i’ t’ week, and fell in again. He took a delight i’ torturing birds and animals, and I’ve thrashed him many a dozen times for’t. He was awlus a coward and a sneak, and ’ud scream same as a rabbit wi’ a weasel on its back t’ minute he was touched. He was a dull lad at his books, barring ’at he was quick at figures same as all his lot; but he was a rare hand at a bargain, and beat his dad at being nippy—”
A humorous recollection brought a twinkle into Maniwel’s eyes, and he went on—