“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, “I’ve been used to town ways, and my tongue was a bit free, maybe. I meant no harm, and as for being boss, that’s a cap that doesn’t fit my head. If you care to try me I’ll serve you well, and you’ll get no ‘lip’ from me.”
The allusion was craftily designed to bring the master back to realities, but the tone was not aggressive, and Mr. Briggs’ features unbent.
“I let no man tell me what I ‘shall’ give him,” he growled. “That’s for me to say. You’re not in t’ town here bear in mind, with a union to stand aside you with a stick. I give a man what he’s worth to me, and if he doesn’t like it, he chucks it, or I chuck him.”
“Quite so,” Inman assented. “That’ll do for me.”
“You’re more ready to toe t’ line than I altogether care about,” the other went on. He was still suspicious, and whilst the mastery in the grey eyes fascinated it also irritated him.
“I want a job in the country,” Inman said soothingly. “I want to be among men o’ my own breed—among moormen. I’m sick to death of the little painted images of men they have in the towns. They told me in Scaleber you were a just man, Mr. Briggs—not soft, but just—and I’ll trust you to give me what I’m worth—that’s all I meant, however badly I put it.”
The master threw a keen glance at him, and seeing nothing but frankness and something not unlike humility in the face and attitude, allowed himself to be appeased.
“Well, I’ll try you for an odd week,” he said, “and see what you’re made of. I could like to teach yon lad a lesson. He’ll be back in t’ morning, like enough, with his cap in his hands; but I’ll see him blaze before I’ll stand his jaw. Where’ll you put up for to-night?”
“I’ll find a spot somewhere,” Inman replied indifferently.
“Will you step in and have a bite o’ bread before you go down t’ village?” Mr. Briggs inquired gruffly, and with no heartiness to season the invitation. “My sister’ll happen know o’ somebody ’at’ll give you a bed.”