The greater part of the tea-things had been cleared away when Jagger entered the cottage in the evening. All day he had been on the watch for Nancy, but it was late afternoon before he had found his opportunity. His face was white and his eyes were troubled, but his voice was quite firm when he spoke.
“If you’ve naught to do, father,” he said, “we’ll look round for a shop. There’s that barn of Haggas’s standing empty; I daresay we could rent it for very little. I want no tea. What say you if we go down and see Ben?”
“Then Nancy doesn’t favour t’ scheme?” inquired his father.
“Nancy’s chucked both t’ scheme and me,” he replied gruffly. “She’d scarce listen; and naught’ll do but I must go back to Baldwin and help to work t’ business up to fill all their pockets. It’s of no consequence ’at mine’s empty.”
His father regarded him for a minute in silence; but Hannah made light of the quarrel, preaching patience, and the virtue of the cold-shoulder treatment, to which Jagger gave no heed.
“I was afraid you’d make a mullock of it, lad,” said his father at length. “There’s edges on all women that you can’t get off with either chisel or smoothing plane, and it’s a mistake to try sandpaper. You told her a straight tale, I reckon?”
“I told her all she’d listen to. I hid naught from her,” he replied.
“Then pour him out his tea, Hannah,” said Maniwel. “A man can sup when he can’t bite, and a drop o’ tea’ll very likely set t’ wheels going. I’ll go down and see Ben; I’d thought of his place myself. You’ll be best on t’ hearthstun for a bit till your face shortens.”
“T’ street called Straight is about as full o’ troubles as Gordel’s full o’ stones,” said Jagger with some bitterness when his father’s back was turned.