The Parson O' Dumford

“Do you now!” said the doctor, smiling. “Well, I suppose it’ll come to broken heads with some of you, and then you’ll be glad of me. Who stole the bands?”

Sim jumped and turned pale, so suddenly and sharply was the question asked.

“How should I know?” he cried, recovering himself.

“Some of you chaps at the Bull, eh, Sim? Artful trick, very. Say, Sim, if you want a doctor for your society, remember me. Ck!” This last was to the horse, which went off immediately at a sharp trot, with the springs of the gig dancing up and down, as the wheels went in and out of the ruts.

“Remember you, eh!” said Sim, as the doctor went out of hearing. “Have you for the medical man? Yes, when we want ivery word as is spoke blabbed all over the place. It’s my belief,” continued Sim, sententiously, “as that fat old blobkite tells the last bit o’ news, to every baby as soon as it’s born, and asks them as he’s killed whether they’d like a ride in his gig. Hallo! there’s owd Joe Banks leaning over his fence. What a fierce-looking old maulkin he is; he looks as sour as if he’d been yeating berry pie wi’out sugar. Day, Banks,” he said, stopping.

“Day,” said Joe, shortly, and staring very hard at the visitor.

“I think it’ll rean soon, mun.”

“Do yow?” said Joe, roughly.

“I weer over to Churley yesterday,” said Sim, “and it reant all day.”

“Did it?” said Joe.

“Ay, it did. ’Twas a straange wet day.”

“Where are you going?” said Joe.

“Oh, only just up to Brown’s to see if I could buy a bit o’ kindling for the Missus.”

“Go and buy it, then,” said Joe, turning his back, “and let me get shut o’ thee.”

“Say, Joe Banks,” said Sim, quite unabashed, “as I have met thee I should just like to say a word or two to thee.”

“Say away then.”

“Nay, nay. Not here. Say, mun, that’s a fine primp hedge o’ yourn,” he continued, pointing to the luxuriant privet hedge that divided the garden of the snug house from the road.

“You let my primp hedge bide,” said Joe, sharply; “and if you’ve got any mander o’ message from your lot, spit it out like a man.”

“Message! I a message!” said Sim, with a surprised air. “Not I. It was a word or two ’bout thy lass.”

Joe Banks’s face became crimson, and he turned sharply to see if any one was at door or window so as to have overheard Sim’s words.

As there was no one, he came out of the gate, took his caller’s arm firmly in his great fist, and walked with him down the lane out of sight of the houses, for the foreman’s pretty little place was just at the edge of the town, and looked right down the valley.

Sim’s heart beat a little more quickly, and he felt anything but comfortable; but, calling up such determination as he possessed, he walked on till Joe stopped short, faced him, and then held up a menacing finger.

“Now look here, Sim Slee,” said Joe; “I just warn thee to be keerful, for I’m in no humour to be played wi’.”

“Who wants to play wi’ you?” said Sim; “I just come in a neighbourly way to gi’e ye a bit o’ advice, and you fly at me like a lion.”

“Thou’rt no neighbour o’ mine,” said Joe, “and thou’rt come o’ no friendly errant. Yow say yow want to speak to me ’bout my lass. Say thee say.”

“Oh, if that’s the way you tak’ it,” said Sim, “I’m going.”

“Nay, lad, thee ain’t,” said Joe. “Say what thee’ve got to say now, for not a step do yow stir till yo’ have.”

Sim began to repent his visit; but seeing no way of escape, and his invention providing him with no inoffensive tale, he began at once, making at the same time a good deal of show of his bound-up hand, and wincing and nursing it as if in pain.

“Well, Joe Banks, as a man for whom, though we have differed in politics and matters connected with the wucks, I always felt a great respect – ”

“Dal thee respect!” said Joe; “come to the point, man.”

“I say, Joe, that it grieves me to see thee stick so to a mester as is trying to do thee an injury.”

“An yow want to talk me over to join thy set o’ plotting, conspiring shackbags at the Bull, eh?”

“I should be straange and proud to feel as I’d browt a man o’ Joe Banks’s power and common sense into the ways o’ wisdom, and propose him as a member o’ our society,” said Sim.

“I dare say thee would, Sim; strange and glad. But that’s not what thee come to say. Out wi’ it, mun; out wi’ it.”

“That is what I come to say, Joe,” said Sim, turning white, as he saw the fierce look in Joe’s eyes.

“Nay; thee said something ’bout my lass.”

“I only were going to say as I didn’t like to see such a worthy man serving faithful a mester as was trying to do him an injury.”

“What do you mean?” said Joe, quite calmly.

Sim hesitated, but he felt obliged to speak, so calmly firm was the look fixed upon him, though at the same time the foreman’s fists were clenched most ominously.

“Well, Joe,” said Sim, with a burst, “Dicky Glaire’s allus after thy bairn, and I saw him the other night, at nearly midnight, trying to drag her into the counting-house.”

“Thee lies, thee chattering, false – hearted maulkin!” roared Joe, taking the trembling man by the throat and shaking him till his teeth clicked together.

“Don’t! don’t! murder!” cried Sim, holding up his injured hand with the rag before Joe’s face. “Don’t ill-use a helpless man.”

“Thou chattering magpie!” roared Joe, throwing him off, so that Sim staggered back against the prickly hedge, and quickly started upright. “I wish thee weer a man that I could thrash till all thee bones was sore. Look here, Sim Slee, if thee says a word again about my lass and the doings of thee betters it’ll be the worse for thee.”

“My poor hand! my poor hand!” moaned Sim, nursing it as if it were seriously injured.

“Then thee shouldn’t ha’ made me wroth,” said Joe, calming down, and blaming himself for attacking a cripple.

“I didn’t know that thou wast going to wink at thee lass being Dicky Glaire’s mis – ”

Sim did not finish the word, for Joe Banks’s fist fell upon his mouth with a heavy thud, and he went down in the road, and lay there with his lips bleeding, and a couple of his front teeth loosened.

“Thou lying villin,” said Joe, hoarsely, “howd thee tongue, if thee wants to stay me from killing thee. I’d ha’ let thee off, but thou wouldst hev it. Don’t speak to me again, or I shall – ”

He did not trust himself to finish, but strode off, leaving Slee lying in the dust.

“Poor Master Richard,” he muttered – “a scandal-hatching, lying scoundrel – as if the lad would think a wrong word about my lass. Well,” he added, with a forced laugh, “that has stopped his mouth, and a good many more, as I expect.”