CHAPTER XI.

THE STRIKE AT THE WELL

One would have thought that so excellent a work as the digging of the wells would be allowed to go on quietly, but unfortunately the fact that the scheme happened to have been originated by the vicar and the doctor was enough to make some people condemn it; and we all know, when once the thin end of the wedge of discontent and distrust has forced its way into anything, how difficult--nay, how often impossible--it is to dislodge it. And so it was that the men at the railway well, when they had dug to the depth of nearly fifty feet and had found no water, began to get impatient and disheartened. Most of the wells in Willowton were not more than thirty or forty feet deep, and were fed, of course, chiefly by surface drainage; hence their deadly poison. These new wells were on the higher ground above the village, and naturally water was to be found there only at a deeper level; but these men either would not or could not take this in. Two of them had had very little experience whatever in the work, and like all novices, they looked for immediate results; and when these were not forthcoming, they grumbled at the dowser, their employers, and everything else. Their evil counsellors advised a strike for higher wages than the unprecedented amount they were already receiving, and so it happened that one hot morning, when the vicar went up to see how they were progressing, he found the well deserted, and no signs of the men anywhere. He walked up to it and looked in. It was partially covered with planks in the usual way, apparently just as they had left it the night before. He was puzzled. The men had apparently struck. But why? he asked himself. And nothing he could recall threw any light upon the matter.

"That is the worst," he thought "of employing irregular workmen." But it had been impossible at such short notice to procure all professional well-sinkers, and he had thought himself very fortunate to have secured two, one for each well; while all the men, except Chapman, had seen the work going on at various farms in the neighbourhood, if they had not actually assisted. They were perfectly well aware of the nature of the work; they had volunteered for it, and gone at it cheerfully enough. The strike was altogether inexplicable.

The vicar paid his visit to the Union, and an hour later came on to the bridge, where he saw all four men seated on the parapet, smoking, and talking loudly and ostentatiously, as if they wished to engage the attention of the passers-by. They were a rough-looking gang, however, and nobody seemed inclined to stop. Curiously enough, neither Corkam nor Farley was present.

"Good-morning, my men," he said pleasantly when he got within speaking distance. "How is it you are not at work?"

A sort of sullen silence had come over them at his approach. No one attempted to break it, but each looked covertly at the other for guidance--all except the stranger, who turned his back and became apparently deeply interested in the ducks on the water.

"You're all here, aren't you? No accident, I hope?" said the vicar.

"No accident as I know on," answered the foreman at last.

He was a man who had been in the choir, but had left for some stupid reason or fancied slight, known only to himself. Mr. Rutland had been extremely kind to him always, and had helped him more than once with money when an accident during harvest had kept him out of work.

"Well," said the vicar, turning very red with an evident effort to keep his temper, "since none of you have anything to say, I will wish you good-morning."

"Well, but we have something to say," said another man roughly.

This man had had three children down with the fever, and the doctor had given them every attention, even sitting up half the night on occasion when two of them had been in a very critical state. He had behaved very differently then from what he was doing now. He thrust his hands into his trousers pockets, and tried to look as callous as he could.

The vicar looked at him for the eighth part of a second with disgust.

"Well, then, Cadger, stand up and say it properly," he said authoritatively.

The man slipped off the parapet, and stood looking very uncomfortable, for all his swagger, under the vicar's scrutiny.

"Now, then," said the vicar sharply, "what is it? what is your complaint?"

"We've struck," said two or three voices at once.

The vicar never once glanced at the graceless creatures still dangling their legs, though less aggressively; he addressed himself to Cadger.

"Oh, have you?" he said as calmly as he could. "What have you struck for?"

"More wages," said Cadger, glancing at his comrades for directions.

"Which you won't have," said the vicar quietly. He was quite calm now and very white. "You agreed for what was considered by yourselves, and by everybody else, a very generous wage. You have no right to ask more. I, for one, will certainly not advocate it. There is reason in all things, and money is not so plentiful in Willowton as you seem to think. I am disappointed in you, Cadger, particularly; I had thought better things of you. I fancied you, at least, were anxious to take your share in lessening the terrible trouble that has been put upon us; but I see now you only thought of your own interest. With my consent, I tell you honestly, you will not get a penny more."

"He! he!" laughed one or two of the men; but the vicar never looked round.

"But," he added, "I am only one. You can bring your complaint in proper form before the committee, and, of course, if the majority agree, what I say will not stand; so you have your remedy."

He walked away as he finished speaking, and Cadger sat down again. He did not say anything, for somehow or other, though he felt very valiant at first, he began now to feel rather small. There was an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, and then the stranger, whose name was Hayes, knocked the ashes out of his pipe against the root of a tree and spoke.

"He don't look such a bad sort," he said reflectively.

"I don't mind him so much," said Cadger patronizingly, "when he mind 'is own business."

"Oh, indeed!" said the stranger with a twinkle. "Well, now, whatever is 'is business?"

"Well, I s'pose that's te preach in th' church, and give the money tue th' poor, and wisit th' sick."

"Yis. Well, go on; northin' more'n that?"

"Well yis," went on the man, never seeing that Hayes was "pulling his leg:" "he've got ter due th' christenin', and th' marryin', and th' buryin'."

"Well, that last ought ter give 'im plenty o' work in this hole," said Hayes rather brutally. "Well, go on. Anythin' more?"

"Well, he've got ter see after the schule, an' the clothin' club, an' the parish room, an' sech like things."

"And don't he take no trouble about the choir? Don't he have no Bible classes, nor confirmation classes, nor nothin'?"

"Oh yis, hev them," Cadger allowed.

"Well, then, there's them concerts, and trips to the seaside, and school treats you was tellin' me about the other day. Don't he have nothin' to do with them?"

"Oh yis; he manages them, in coorse."

"Oh, 'ndeed! Well, now, how about the cricket clubs and the football clubs?"

"Oh, he's treasurer for them tue."

"Well, then--I don't hold much with parsons myself, but I should like to know wat's _not_ his business!"

"That's not 'is business to come interferin' wi' us," said the man who had laughed derisively. It was he who had insulted the memory of Geo's father.

"Oh, ain't it? Well--- Don't be angry," as the man fired up; "I only ask for information. Who had the startin' o' these here wells?"

Nobody seemed anxious to answer this question, and Hayes did it himself.

"Why, the parson hisself, didn't he? And aren't he and the doctor answerable for the money? If any one has a right to say anything, I should think the parson has. But you're on the strike, and right or wrong you're in for it; but I don't mind tellin' of yer I ain't--I'm only one to four, and that's no good holdin' out. But I ain't one a' yer sneakin' sort; I ain't afeared ter speak out, no more'n th' parson, and I tell yer honest I hain't struck. I can't goo on by myself; but I've been a well-sinker all my days, and I know I niver had sech good pay offered to me before, and I'm content. If they don't give in, why, the well, I s'pose will have to be closed. But that don't matter to me; I can get plenty a' jobs at Ipswitch, an' I can go back where I come from, quite agreeable."

He put his pipe back into his mouth when he had finished his harangue, and puffed away for some moments in silence; and then the storm broke. The other men were furious at his words. They called him by every opprobrious name they could think of.

"All right," he said at last, leisurely pulling off his jacket; "let's fight it out."

He stood up boldly in the middle of the road, with his head thrown back and his fists clenched; but nobody seemed inclined to accept his invitation.

A butcher's cart that was passing pulled up to see the fun, and in a minute or less there was quite a crowd of small boys standing round the angry group. Encouraged by the "gallery," Hayes, who had hitherto been perfectly good-humoured, was beginning to be really angry, and in another minute would probably have let fly at one or other of his late mates; but the policeman, who happened to be at hand, stepped up in the nick of time and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder.

Hayes was sobered in a minute.

"All right, master, I don't want to fight. There ain't one a' them but wot I could pound into mincemeat if I liked, but I'll let 'em off since you've come."

He pulled down his shirt sleeves as he spoke, and Cadger and his mates took the opportunity of slipping off, and in five minutes the bridge was clear. Indeed, the whole scene had not lasted quarter of an hour; and when Farley and Corkam emerged from the back parlour of the Swan, their mortification and disgust at having missed it knew no bounds. But there had been one silent spectator who concerns our story--it was Geo Lummis. He had heard it all, every word, as he hung over the bridge watching the stream. It was no business of his, so he did not interfere; and knowing that he would be questioned and cross-questioned a hundred times over by both of them if they knew he had been there, he turned off abruptly and went home.