‘Always alike, and theory and practice always adverse!’ murmured Martin as he turned to leave the room.
‘Where art thou going, my son?’ asked the father.
‘Somewhere where I shall be safe from insult—if in this house I can find any such place.’
Matthew laughed very insolently: Martin threw a strange look at him, and trembled through all his slight lad’s frame, but he restrained himself.
‘I suppose there is no objection to my withdrawing?’ he inquired.
‘No; go, my lad: but remember not to bear malice.’
Martin went, and Matthew sent another insolent laugh after him. Rose, lifting her fair head from Moore’s shoulder, against which, for a moment, it had been resting, said, as she directed a steady gaze to Matthew:
‘Martin is grieved, and you are glad; but I would rather be Martin than you. I dislike your nature.’
Here Mr. Moore, by way of averting, or at least escaping, a scene—which a sob from Mrs. Yorke warned him was likely to come on—rose, and, putting Jessy off his knee, he kissed her and Rose, reminding them at the same time to be sure and come to the Hollow in good time to-morrow afternoon; then, having taken leave of his hostess, he said to Mr. Yorke, ‘May I speak a word with you?’ and was followed by him from the room. Their brief conference took place in the hall.
‘Have you employment for a good workman?’ asked Moore.
‘A nonsense question in these times, when you know that every master has many good workmen to whom he cannot give full employment.’
‘You must oblige me by taking on this man, if possible.’
‘My lad, I can take on no more hands to oblige all England.’
‘It does not signify; I must find him a place somewhere.’
‘Who is he?’
‘William Farren.’
‘I know William; a right-down honest man is William.’
‘He has been out of work three months; he has a large family. We are sure they cannot live without wages. He was one of a deputation of cloth-dressers who came to me this morning to complain and threaten. William did not threaten; he only asked me to give them rather more time—to make my changes more slowly. You know I cannot do that: straitened on all sides as I am, I have nothing for it but to push on. I thought it would be idle to palaver long with them. I sent them away, after arresting a rascal amongst them, whom I hope to transport—a fellow who preaches at the chapel yonder sometimes.’
‘Not Moses Barraclough?’
‘Yes.’
‘Ah! you’ve arrested him? Good! Then, out of a scoundrel you’re going to make a martyr: you’ve done a wise thing.’