CHAPTER VI.

PUBLIC OPINION ON THE BRIDGE

The sun was setting, and the long shadows were slanting into the tired faces of the crowd, before the dowser considered he had satisfactorily accomplished his self-imposed task. He had made his circuit of the village, and come back again to the common. He had found and marked three springs: two were, he said, at a considerable depth, some hundred or more feet below the surface; and one, the most conveniently-placed for those who were to benefit by it, was on the edge of the common, perhaps three or four hundred yards from the church. When he and his following returned after their long and successful quest, they found motor car standing at the Wild Swan, puffing and snorting in the impatient way that motors do. The driver, who was most unmistakably out of patience, called out to him to hurry, or "they would not get to Ipswich that night;" and after a brief adieu to Mr. Barlow, and a comprehensive word to the assemblage, he climbed into the car and disappeared in a cloud of dust.

Willowton metaphorically rubbed its eyes. It was like a dream. This morning they were to die for want of water; this evening it appeared there was "water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink."

When the last sound of the departing motor's horn had died away Geo Lummis joined his cronies on the bridge.

"Well," said Corkam, in his rancorous voice, "of all the tomfoolery I ever seed in my life, I never seed anything to ekal this! Do yew mean ter tell me as that old bloke with a piece a' stick can find out where the water is, a hundred feet under the earth? Well, if yew think I'm goin' ter believe _that_, why you're greater fules nor I took yer for."

"He, he, he!" laughed the cripple admiringly. "He knaw a thing or tew, due Mr. Corkham."

"Well," said Corkam, swelling with importance, "if I di'n't I ought ter, for I've been twice ter 'Meriky, and that's moor nor the rest of yer hev."

This argument was unanswerable, for nobody else certainly had crossed the Atlantic, or had, for the matter of that, ever experienced the slightest desire to do so; but still, to have been a traveller gives one importance in one's native village, and Corkam never let the American experience be forgotten. There was a tradition that an impudent boy, with an inquiring mind, had once asked him how long he had been there; and there _were_ people in the upper walks of life in Willowton who had expressed an opinion that he had gone over as a stoker in one of the "Cunarders," but had never done more than set his foot on the soil of the other hemisphere. But the fate of the indiscreet boy, whose ears had tingled for some time after his awkward question, had successfully deterred others from indulging in any undue thirst for information on that point, and Corkam was popularly supposed to be a mine of knowledge. It was, therefore, distinctly disappointing to find that the afternoon's excitement was to go for nothing, and that they were, so to speak, "no forrader" than they were before.

There was soon quite a little crowd round the "traveller," who was airing his opinions freely, and consequently enjoying himself exceedingly.

"And if he hev found water," he was saying--"s'posin', as we'll say, s'posin' there _is_ water where he say--why, he didn't find that for nothin'. Bah! _I_ knaw better'n that. He knaw wot he's about, does that gen'lm; he'll be round here in a month or two, I'll lay a soverin', arstin' for yer wotes for the next election! I knaw 'em; they're all alike--doctors, parsons, jowsers--they don't do anythin' for nothin'. Mark my words, he'll git suffin' out on yer before long. I knaw 'em, an' I ought'er, I'm shore, for ha'int I've bin te 'Meriky?"

How long this harangue might have continued one cannot tell, but an interruption was cased by the arrival on the scene of the doctor in his high dog-cart. He pulled up on the bridge and addressed the crowd.

"This seems to be a good opportunity of speaking to you, my men, on the subject which will be discussed in the schoolroom to-morrow at dinner-time. Three springs of water are said to have been discovered, and it has been decided to sink wells, if possible, in all three places; and also to clear out those wells which already exist, with a hope that when the rain _does_ come, and the springs begin to work again, the water may be purer and more fit to drink. The wells must be dug at once, the funds must be raised somehow or other; we can't stop to consider how at this moment, for it is a matter, as you all know, of life and death. What we propose to ask of you is to come forward with offers of help. The farmers have kindly consented to spare those of their men who know anything about well-sinking. I am about to send telegrams to several well-known men to come to our assistance, and I now ask you to think the matter over this evening, and those men who are willing to offer their services will, I hope, come in person to the meeting at one o'clock to-morrow, when a selection will be made by a committee, which will be formed this evening. I should like to add that the question of wages will be also settled, and that the vicar and I will be responsible for their prompt payment. All we ask of you is your hearty co-operation in what is for the good of the whole parish."

"Hear, hear!" shouted a few voices in the crowd, who, for the most part, received the intimation with sullen silence and imperturbability of countenance. Corkam's words had done their work, and Willowton had veered round again and become incredulous. The doctor drove off, first to call at a fever-smitten house at the extreme end of the village, and then to beat up a committee of influential men for the meeting next day.

"Responsible fur the wages, indeed!" sneered Corkam. "I'd like ter know where they're agoin' ter git th'money from! They'll borrer it, I s'pose, and make a good thing out of it. Never fear, yer don't blind _me;_ _I_ know 'em!"

"Well," said a man who had hitherto preserved a stony silence, "th' wells have got to be dug somehow, and I don't see what call anybody hev ter bother about where th' money come from so that's good money, and that they come by it honest. I know sumthin' about well-diggin', and I shall go if they'll hev me."

"And so'll I, Martin, if yue due," said Tom Chapman, who stood beside him. "I don't know nothin' about it; but I know that's dangerous work, and is well paid, and I can work under yur and due my best."

"That you can, booy," said the other man, clapping him on the back, "an' a better mate I don't never want te see."

After a little more desultory talk the crowd separated, and they all went home to their evening meal, and to talk the matter over with their wives.