“I’m moorland born,” Inman replied, “and town life doesn’t suit me. Now I’m getting older I sort o’ want to settle down.”
Mr. Briggs scowled. He did not like glibness, and the young man was an adept in that smooth art. All strangers were under suspicion, and a stranger who turned up from nowhere in time to step into another man’s shoes—a stranger who travelled so light that he had not even a spare collar for his neck, and whose tone was domineering although under control, was doubly suspicious. Mr. Briggs stared steadily and thoughtfully at his visitor, and frowned until his eyes were almost hidden by the pepper-coloured tufts of hair that overhung them. Inman bore the scrutiny well and made his face expressionless.
“It’s a rum tale,” said the master, “and as for getting older you’ll not have topped twenty-six, I’ll warrant.”
“Barely,” replied the other. “I was six and twenty three weeks since. Now come, Mr. Briggs, I’m just the man for you. I can handle tools, as these papers tell you, and you’re wanting a man to handle ’em. I’ll fetch my bass across to-morrow and start on Monday. You shall give me what you gave yon other chap, and if I don’t satisfy you, you can sack me, same as you did him.”
He would have said more, but the change that came over the master’s face caused him to pull up abruptly. Mr. Briggs was a loosely-built, shambling man of sixty, with long legs that would not have passed the test of his own straight-edge, a neck of many hollows, and a face that was chiefly remarkable for the prominence of the cheek-bones and a peculiarly knobbed nose. Hair of the same pepper-coloured variety that thatched his eyebrows grew thickly on his cheeks and chin, but was shaved from the upper lip. In revenge, perhaps, for that slight, some seeds had rooted themselves on the end of the nose and flourished there.
In spite of this abnormality there was nothing repulsive about Baldwin Briggs’ features except when one of those sudden gusts of passion swept over them and distorted them. Then a row of large, discoloured teeth, with sundry gaps of irregular shape, was disclosed, and the pepper-coloured hair on the nose actually bristled. It was a disturbance of this kind that checked the easy flow of Inman’s speech.
He stood unmoved until the spluttered oaths had run out, but was inwardly surprised at the quick, volcanic outburst, and contemptuously amused. Not a sign of this, however, was revealed by his expression.
“Devil take you, with your ‘shalls’ and your ‘cans’,” hissed Mr. Briggs. “When I want a boss I’ll let you know. You’re a piece too clever, young fellow, for a plain man like me. You’re a cock ’at crows over loud and ’ud want all t’ yard to yourself. Here!” he tossed the envelope back to Inman, who caught it and thrust it into his pocket; then, as he turned down the lamp, he remarked gruffly:
“I’ll bid you good-night. There’s nothing here for you, young man.”
Inman allowed his eyes to drop and spoke softly.