CHAPTER XV
IN WHICH THE VILLAGERS DISCUSS THE DISASTER
NEVER had an unfortunate business man more alert and resourceful adviser than Baldwin found in Inman at this crisis. Promptly, yet with no lessening of deference—nay, with a greater show of it—the mate became captain of the ship and held the helm with a master’s hand. In the inn and elsewhere Inman made light of the disaster. It was hard luck, he admitted; but when a man had plenty left, and had always lived and was content to live, as if he had nothing, there was no need to make a fuss about the loss of a thousand or two.
“It’s his heirs who may pull long faces,” he explained lightly; “and he damns them with a good grace, and doesn’t seem quite to know who they are.”
Baldwin himself kept indoors, and only his workpeople saw his face and heard his voice, and if both were a trifle sourer the difference was not very marked.
Inman, on the other hand, was friendlier and more approachable. He walked with a lighter step, and whistled softly as he worked, to the satisfaction of his master who looked upon these proceedings as a deliberate act of policy on his astute subordinate’s part; and also of the men, who appreciated anything that lightened and sweetened the usually sultry atmosphere of the shop. There was another reason for the master’s gratification, though it was one that was carefully hidden from everybody else, in the circumstance that his foreman’s energies were employed, and with apparently equal zeal, in two directions, one of which was to save the business from wreckage and the other to ensure the discomfiture of the Drakes. This latter object he pursued with an ingenuity and relentless determination that seemed almost superhuman to the slow-witted master, who never chuckled now except when news was brought that another scheme for his competitors’ downfall had hatched out successfully.
“He’s nowt i’ my line, isn’t t’ lad,” said Swithin; “and never has been from t’ first night when he stole Jagger’s job fro’ him; but one thing I say and that I stand tul, ’at he’s turned out a rare friend for Baldwin in his time o’ trouble.”
“Mebbee, mebbee,” Ambrose’s thin voice broke in; and from the look on the others’ faces it was evident the two disputants were having the field to themselves. “A hungry dog is fain of a dirty pudden,’ as t’ t’owd speyk puts it, and this young fella gives him summat he hasn’t wit enough to get for his-sen. But when a man’s gifted same as I’ve been, and partic’lar when he’s lived to my years, Swith’n there’s things he can see wi’ his een shut; and I can see Baldwin harvestin’ trouble by t’ peck ’at this young fella’s scattered for seeds o’ kindness.”
The old man’s words carried conviction and Swithin himself felt their force.
“There’s no man can say I’m a friend to either on ’em, Ambrus, and I’m not one to deny ’at you’ve t’ gift o’ seeing farther nor most folk——”