“Hadn’t you better be moving and take off them things?”
Still he did not stir; but at last, without a word, he turned round and—slowly walked away.
“That’s a rum customer,” observed the boatman; “he might have thanked us at least, and he hasn’t paid me. Howsomever, I shan’t forget it the next time I see him.”
Tom made no reply: gave the man double his usual fare and went across the meadow. He had no particular object in coming to Eastthorpe, excepting that he had heard there was to be a meeting of Mr. Furze’s creditors, and he could not rest until he knew the result. He avoided the main street as much as possible, but he intended to obtain his information from Mr. Nagle at the Bell.
As to Jim, he went home, changed his clothes and went out again. He walked up and down the street, and presently met Tom.
“Mr. Catchpole,” he said, “will you please come along o’ me?”
There was something of authority in the tone of Jim’s voice, and yet something which forbade all fear. Tom followed him in silence, and they went to the Terrace. Mr. Furze was not at home, but Jim knew he would back directly, and they waited in the kitchen, Tom much wondering, but restrained by some strange compulsion—he could not say what—not only to remain, but to refrain from asking any questions. Directly Mr. Furze returned, Jim went upstairs, with Tom behind him, and to the amazement of Mr. and Mrs. Furze presented him in the dining-room.
“What is the meaning of this?” said Mrs. Furze.
“Mrs. Furze,” said Jim, “will you please excuse me, and allow me to speak for this once? I don’t see Miss Catharine here. I want yer to send for her. Wot I’ve got to say, I mean to say afore you all.”
Catharine was in her bedroom. She came down wrapped up in a shawl, and Jim stood up.