I
At the beginning of that week at Sandybay, Mr.¬ÝOakroyd was a happy man. Never in all his dreams of being an independent craftsman had he been so independent or so much the craftsman as he was now. He put in as many hours working as he had done at Higden‚Äôs mill, and sometimes he put in a great deal more, achieving a day‚Äôs labour that would have horrified every Trade Union secretary in the country. But you could hardly call it work; it was like a kind of hobby; it was nothing but a pleasant dream of work; and it made old Sam Oglethorpe, with his ‚ÄúJoinery and Jobbing Work Promptly Attended to,‚Äù his hen-run, and his cottage, look like ‚Äútwo-pennorth o‚Äô copper.‚Äù When Mr.¬ÝOakroyd remembered that only a week or two before, he had envied old Sam, he was amazed at his good fortune, which indeed had still something unreal about it. True, he had a lot to learn about this business; all this messing about with curtains and bits of scenery and electric lights was new to him; but then he was learning fast and liking it. So long as they did not want him to appear on the stage‚ÅÝ‚Äîhe drew the line at that, even if it was only choosing a card out of a pack for Mr.¬ÝMitcham‚ÅÝ‚Äîhe was ready to do anything they asked him to do. And if he made any bit of a thing for these people, they were pleased and thankful and went on about it until he hardly knew where to look. This attitude towards work seemed to him astonishingly novel. At Higden‚Äôs, if you didn‚Äôt put all your back into a job, they asked you what you thought you were there for; but when you did put your back into it, finishing the job in fine style, then they said ‚ÄúAy, that‚Äôll do.‚Äù And he could not help thinking that these strange theatrical people‚ÅÝ‚Äîindeed, all these Southerners he was meeting now‚ÅÝ‚Äîdid overdo this patting you on the back and making a fuss when you did some little bit of a thing: it made you feel soft. But he was also compelled to admit that it did oil the wheels and put heart into you when you had to tackle something new. Oh, the job was a gift! Then there was the travelling. Talk about being on t‚Äôroad! Talk about being down South! Why, at this rate, there would hardly be anywhere in England where they hadn‚Äôt been, after six months. The places these theatre folk had seen! Even Susie, only a bit of a lass, could talk by the hour, like Joby Jackson himself, about the towns she had been to, dozens and dozens of them. As for Mr.¬ÝMitcham, if you only believed half he said, he must have played that banjo of his and done his conjuring in nearly every place under the sun, in places too where you would not think they would want to hear a banjo or see any conjuring. Such folk, who could afford to be particular, might well think nothing of Rawsley and Dotworth, but Mr.¬ÝOakroyd had enjoyed himself in both these towns. They seemed to him delightfully foreign. At Rawsley the woman at his lodgings had given him for supper one night some little dry dumplings with bits of bacon in them, something that Bruddersford had never set eyes on; and in a pub there he had met a man who thought Bruddersford United was a rugby team. Dotworth was equally outlandish. There they had put nothing but Swiss milk in tea, called buns ‚Äúcakes,‚Äù did not know that wool had to be washed and combed before it was spun, and got terribly mixed up between Yorkshire and Lancashire all the time. It was in a pub at Dotworth that he had been able to set a chap right very nicely. This was a scene he had often wistfully amused himself by imagining back at Bruddersford, when he dreamed of being a travelled man. He had imagined himself taking his pipe out of his mouth and saying quietly, ‚ÄúHalf a minute, mate! You‚Äôre wrong there. I‚Äôve been and I knaw.‚Äù And it had actually happened like that. This chap, who drove a cart and seemed to fancy himself, was laying down the law a bit and got on to talking about the Great North Road. He said it went through Lincoln and York, and all the Dotworth innocents, gaping at him over their half-pints, said that he was quite right. Then it happened. Mr.¬ÝOakroyd took his pipe out of his mouth and said quietly: ‚ÄúHalf a minute, mate! You‚Äôre wrong there.‚Äù Ho. ‚Äôe was, was ‚Äôe? Yes, he was, and had he ever been down the Great North Road? No, he hadn‚Äôt, but he had pals who had and knew it well. ‚ÄúWell, yer pals is wrong too, mate,‚Äù Mr.¬ÝOakroyd had told him and the company. ‚ÄúGreat North Road nivver sees Lincoln and York. I‚Äôve been and I knaw. Only come down it t‚Äôother night, on a lorry.‚Äù And for the next quarter of an hour he had told them a thing or two, and the landlord himself had stayed in the taproom to listen.
Neither of these places, however, could compare with Sandybay. He was ready to put Sandybay in front of the other seaside towns he had visited, Morecambe, Blackpool, and Scarborough, not because there was more ‚Äúgoing off‚Äù there (most people say ‚Äúgoing on‚Äù but in Bruddersford they say ‚Äúgoing off‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚Äîa subtle and significant difference), for in that respect it was inferior to the other three, especially Blackpool, where there were more amusements than in any other town in the world. No, he preferred Sandybay because it had more of the sea about it. There were the boats drawn up on the beach, the nets and all the other paraphernalia, the lifeboat, and the fishermen themselves, with their blue jerseys, brown faces, and white whiskers, just like the fishermen in pictures. One old man down there was the very image of the man he had seen so often on the packets and advertisements of his favourite tobacco, Old Salt. Mr.¬ÝOakroyd had actually spoken to him. He had a word or two with a good many of these fishermen, down at the beach or over a glass at one of the funny little pubs near the harbour. He found it hard to understand what they said, and they seemed to find it hard to understand him, but that only made it all the more interesting, like being among foreigners, except that they seemed to like a drop of beer and a pipe of tobacco and were not above cadging one or the other. Joe liked to talk to these chaps too, and sometimes went round with them. All the pierrots were friendly enough‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äúthey got on champion,‚Äù as Mr.¬ÝOakroyd admitted‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut Joe was really the only one he could go about with a bit. Joe might be a singer‚ÅÝ‚Äîand a rare old noise he could make too‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut he was a solid and sensible chap, with arms on him like two, who liked his pipe and glass of bitter and was a good talker when you once got him going. By the time they had reached Sandybay, the two of them were quite confidential. Joe talked to Mr.¬ÝOakroyd about their George, and Mr.¬ÝOakroyd talked to Joe about their Lily.
Then again, Mr.¬ÝOakroyd was happy because so far he liked being in lodgings. He discussed this subject with Joe when the two of them were working at that little set in the Pavilion. Joe had been grumbling, saying he was sick of being in lodgings. He wanted a home of his own.
‚ÄúWell, I can fancy that, Joe,‚Äù replied Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, ‚Äú‚Ää‚Äôcos you‚Äôve been at it a long while. But being i‚Äô lodgings is a change for me, and I‚Äôm not pining for any home of me awn or wanting to go back to t‚Äôone I‚Äôve got. It‚Äôs a bit of a treeat to me being a lodger, Joe.‚Äù
“How d’you make that out?” asked Joe. “It’s not your own place. You can’t do what you like. You’ve got to put up with anything they give you.”
“Nay, I find you’re a deal better off. When I were at home, place didn’t belong to me but to t’wife. She may ha’ done what she liked but I knaw I didn’t. And if I didn’t put up wi’ owt she gave me, I nivver heard last on it for days. If you tell t’woman at your lodgings you don’t want rice pudding all t’week, she might bang t’door a bit as she goes out, but she won’t stand there calling you ivvery name she can lay tongue to and then start afresh next morning or look at you as if you’d been trying to set fire to t’place.”
“Now, Oakroyd,” Joe protested, “you’re not going to tell me you were henpecked like that.”
‚ÄúNo more ner t‚Äônext man,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝOakroyd grimly. ‚ÄúBut I nivver even heard tell of a henpecked lodger.‚Äù
“Maybe. But you’ve heard tell of many a one that’s been swindled and diddled and robbed. And if you haven’t, there’s one here, talking to you. Some of ’em would take the milk out of your tea and the laces out of your boots. They’d charge you for the stairs going up to bed if they could. I could tell you some tales.”
‚ÄúNo doubt you could, Joe,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝOakroyd earnestly, ‚Äúand I‚Äôm not denying that gurt fat woman I lodged wi‚Äô i‚Äô Dotworth were a bit on t‚Äôskinny side when it come to laying table. For all that, I‚Äôm doing better ner I‚Äôve done for some time. Nah, as you knaw yersen, three pound i‚Äô t‚Äôweek isn‚Äôt a big wage. I‚Äôve had more ner that afore today and thowt I were badly off. But when you‚Äôve nobbut yersen to keep and you‚Äôre i‚Äô lodgings it seems to me you get more out on it than you do at home. You pay your two pound or whativver it is to t‚Äôlandlady and she treats you like a good customer, as if you wor somebody. At home you pay all you can but you‚Äôre nobody. ‚ÄòOh, it‚Äôs you, is it?‚Äô they say when you come home. ‚ÄòWell, you‚Äôll have to wait for your tea ‚Äôcos I haven‚Äôt finished what I‚Äôm doing. And how many times have I to tell you to tak‚Äô them big boots off when you come in! Look at mess you‚Äôre making!‚Äô That‚Äôs what you get at home, Joe. But when I walk into my lodgings, it‚Äôs a bit different. ‚ÄòYou‚Äôre just in time, Mr.¬ÝOakroyd,‚Äô they say. ‚ÄòYour tea‚Äôll be ready in one minute. I shan‚Äôt keep you waiting. Nice afternoon it‚Äôs been, Mr.¬ÝOakroyd.‚Äô D‚Äôyou see, Joe?‚Äù
Joe did see but was not convinced. “And when you’ve lived a year or two on landlady’s cooking, old man,” he said, “you’ll change your mind. There’s Jimmy Nunn there always grumbling because he can’t eat anything, but I sometimes think he’s lucky. He knows he can’t get it, but I think I’m going to get something and I don’t.”
‚ÄúPass me up them inch nails, Joe,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝOakroyd. Then he reflected a minute or two. ‚ÄúWell, I must say I‚Äôve seen better cooking i‚Äô my time than you get round these parts. That‚Äôs because you‚Äôre out o‚Äô Yorkshire. Down South here t‚Äôwomen doesn‚Äôt bake and you can‚Äôt get a curran‚Äô teacake or a flat cake or a fatty cake or owt like that. Eh, I‚Äôd a right good laugh yesterda‚Äô. Woman where I am‚ÅÝ‚ÄîMrs.¬ÝCullin her name is‚ÅÝ‚Äîshe‚Äôs a widow woman‚ÅÝ‚Äîher husband were at gasworks here and had a good job too, she tells me‚ÅÝ‚Äîshe‚Äôs a decent clean little body, and friendly like‚ÅÝ‚Äîshe tells me all sorts‚ÅÝ‚Äîwell, Mrs.¬ÝCullin, she says to me yesterda‚Äô, she says, ‚ÄòNow, Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, I‚Äôm going to give you a treat,‚Äô she says. ‚ÄòI‚Äôve a joint o‚Äô beef for your dinner and you‚Äôre a Yorkshireman, so I‚Äôm going to give you some Yorkshire pudding with it,‚Äô she says. In comes my dinner‚ÅÝ‚Äîbit o‚Äô beef, cabbage, potaters. I looks at it and says, ‚ÄòHere, Mrs.¬ÝCullin, what about that Yorkshire pudding?‚Äô I says. ‚ÄòLet‚Äôs have that first.‚Äô She stares. ‚ÄòIt‚Äôs here,‚Äô she says, pointing to t‚Äôplate. ‚ÄúWhat!‚Äù I says. ‚ÄòYou don‚Äôt mean this bit o‚Äô custard, soft batter stuff, under t‚Äôcabbage?‚Äô ‚ÄòYes, I do,‚Äô she says. ‚ÄòIf that isn‚Äôt Yorkshire pudding, what is it?‚Äô ‚ÄòNay,‚Äô I says, ‚Äòyou mun‚Äôt ask me, Missis, what it is. All I knaw is, it‚Äôs no more Yorkshire pudding ner I am. It‚Äôs a bit o‚Äô custard or pancake, likely enough.‚Äô And then I tells her about Yorkshire pudding. And tak‚Äô notice o‚Äô this Joe, ‚Äôcos it‚Äôll happen come in handy some time.‚Äù Mr.¬ÝOakroyd paused to relight his pipe, blew out a cloud or two of Old Salt, then continued.
‚Äú‚Ää‚ÄòTo begin wi‚Äô,‚Äô I says, ‚Äòa Yorkshire pudding is eaten by itsen and not mixed up wi‚Äô meat and potaters, all in a mush. And it comes straight out o‚Äô tooven,‚Äô I says, ‚Äòstraight on to t‚Äôplate. No waiting,‚Äô I says, ‚Äòor you‚Äôll spoil it. If you don‚Äôt put it straight on to t‚Äôplate you might as well go and sole your boots with it. And another thing,‚Äô I says, ‚Äòyou‚Äôve got to have your oven hot, I do knaw that. Then if you‚Äôve mixed right and your oven‚Äôs hot, pudding‚Äôll come out as light as a feather, crisp and brarn, just a top and a bottom, you might say, wi‚Äô none o‚Äô this custardy stuff in t‚Äômiddle. Nan d‚Äôyou see, Missis?‚Äô I says. ‚ÄòNay,‚Äô she says, ‚ÄòI can‚Äôt learn all that at my time o‚Äô life, and you‚Äôre letting your dinner get cold wi‚Äô talking about your hot ovens,‚Äô she says. And then we‚Äôd a right good laugh together, and I heard her telling her daughter‚ÅÝ‚Äîshe‚Äôs in a draper‚Äôs‚ÅÝ‚Äîall about it last night. She has this lass at home and a lad, and another lad away i‚Äô t‚ÄôNavy, and they‚Äôre all courting‚ÅÝ‚Äîeven t‚Äôsailor‚Äôs young woman is allus coming in‚ÅÝ‚Äîso we see a bit o‚Äô company. And they‚Äôre all coming o‚Äô Saturday night to see us.‚Äù
“That’s the idea,” said Joe. “You go on working the town a bit. That’s what I do. Some of the boys and girls laugh at me, but I say it all helps.”
‚ÄúIt does an‚Äô all,‚Äù cried Mr.¬ÝOakroyd. ‚ÄúThey tak‚Äô a right interest in t‚Äôpierrots at Mrs.¬ÝCullin‚Äôs. ‚ÄòIs it a good show?‚Äô they asks me. ‚ÄòGood show!‚Äô I says. ‚ÄòIt‚Äôs t‚Äôbest show as ivver you‚Äôve seen i‚Äô Sandybay,‚Äô I says. ‚ÄòWe‚Äôre nobbut here just to pass an odd week, then we‚Äôre off to t‚Äôbig theaters‚ÅÝ‚Äîcoining brass,‚Äô I says. ‚ÄòCoining what?‚Äô they says. ‚ÄòBrass,‚Äô I says, ‚Äòand that‚Äôs Yorkshire for money. You come and see Good Companions. You‚Äôll nivver get another chance, and when you read about ‚Äôem i‚Äô t‚Äôpapers‚ÅÝ‚Äîand you‚Äôll be doing that afore so long‚ÅÝ‚Äîyou‚Äôll be fair mad if you‚Äôve nivver seen ‚Äôem. Best show on t‚Äôroad,‚Äô I says.‚Äù
And indeed this was Mr.¬ÝOakroyd‚Äôs opinion. He was fully convinced that there was no better concert party than the Good Companions in existence. It is true he did not know much about the others, had never even seen them; but then he could not imagine any one of them being better, could not imagine any other being as good, so that he was quite honest in his opinion. Nor was his enthusiasm merely part and parcel of his loyalty to his new friends and to his employer, Miss Trant. He had never been a constant theatregoer or music-hall patron, though he still liked seven-pennorth of pit at the second house of the Bruddersford Imperial, but nevertheless he considered himself to be a man who knew a good turn when he saw it. Your Bruddersfordian is a hanging judge of anything that costs money. And Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, after having seen the show from almost every possible angle, was convinced that the Good Companions were good turns. He thought least of Elsie, whose rather mechanical little frivolities he dismissed as ‚Äúsummat and nowt.‚Äù On the other hand, the dancing of Mr.¬ÝJerry Jerningham had no more staunch admirer in this island, and Mr.¬ÝOakroyd did not hesitate to give out that he was something of an authority and no ordinary onlooker, for in his youth he had been considered one of the best clog-dancers in the Woolgate and Lane End districts of Bruddersford and had once taken third prize at the Pit Park Gala. For Mr.¬ÝJerningham himself he had a contempt. ‚ÄúYond,‚Äù he would say, ‚Äúis war ner a big lass. Starves his belly to clothe his back, I‚Äôll be bound‚Äù; and, becoming more mysteriously West Riding in his turn of phrase with every added insult, would conclude by muttering that Mr.¬ÝJerningham ‚Äúwer war ner a pike sheep head,‚Äù which final and awful judgement was not the less devastating because nobody understood what it meant. But Mr.¬ÝOakroyd made a clear distinction between Jerningham the man and Jerningham the dancer, and for the latter he had a genuine admiration. And Susie was a favourite with him, on and off the stage. She was obviously a good turn, though he could not always make out what she was getting at, and she was a lively, bonny, and friendly lass, reminding him so much of their Lily that he found her company nearly as delightful and yet disturbing as did Inigo himself. Inigo too he admired as a piano-player and liked as a friendly young chap with not a bit of swelled head about him. (In Bruddersford you are always on the lookout for swelled heads, and if a man does anything at all out of the ordinary there, his head has to be measured at once.) There was too a special bond between him and Inigo, because, as he explained to Joe: ‚ÄúWe‚Äôre both i‚Äô t‚Äôsame boat, both amachoors, as you say, who comes at t‚Äôsame time and is trying to show you what we can do.‚Äù And it was clear from Mr.¬ÝOakroyd‚Äôs tone, as he said this, that he thought the two of them were not only trying but succeeding.
For Miss Trant he had a tremendous respect, though he took pains not to show it. There was something about her‚ÅÝ‚Äîhe knew it was there but did not care to discover exactly what it was‚ÅÝ‚Äîthat commanded this respect, and it was something he had never found in Sir Joseph Higden, Bart, and other men of wealth and standing for whom he had worked in Bruddersford. None of the Good Companions (who had talked it over more than once) knew how much money Miss Trant had, whether she was really rich or merely in possession of a decent income with a few hundreds to spare for this whim of hers; but it was Mr.¬ÝOakroyd‚Äôs opinion that she had plenty of money and had it so long that she never thought about it. ‚ÄúBrass might graw on trees so far as she knaws, or cares,‚Äù he said of her; and this opinion, which would have enraged a democrat of an earlier generation, only tended to increase his wondering respect for her. Bruddersford had its rich and its poor, but he never remembered meeting anyone there like Miss Trant. The two of them were like beings from two different planets who had yet discovered points of contact and sympathy. If Miss Trant had been a man, perhaps his attitude would have been different, but not only was she a woman but, in his eyes, a very personable young woman. He had talked about her to Susie, one afternoon, when the two of them walked the length of the pier. Susie was very fond of Miss Trant and thought her‚ÅÝ‚Äîas she said‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äúreally swish and a dear,‚Äù but of course practically middle-aged, with nothing but a deadly spinsterish sort of life in front of her once she had left the Good Companions. Mr.¬ÝOakroyd had immediately protested against this view of his employer.
“Nay, Soos,” he said, “you’re off your horse there, lass. I wouldn’t be so capped if Miss Trant didn’t marry afore so long. She may have a chap, nah, nobbut waiting for her to say t’word. She’s young eniff for onnybody; you’ve nobbut to look at her to see she’s one o’ the classy sort that happens to ha’ got plenty o’ gumption; and she’s right nice-looking into t’bargain. And if I were a chap, coming courting here, Miss Trant ’ud be t’first I should go for, so nah you knaw.”
‚ÄúSo that‚Äôs it, is it?‚Äù Susie pretended to be very disgusted indeed. ‚ÄúWell, you are a fraud, Mr.¬ÝJess Oakroyd. And after I‚Äôve been so nice to you! What about me, yer gurt nowt?‚Äù
“I wouldn’t be paid to wed thee, Soos,” he declared, delightedly. “A chap ’ud nivver have five minutes’ peace and quiet to hissen wi’ thee, for tha’d be kissin’ him one minute and tormenting him t’next minute and then thrawing pots and pans at him minute after. If tha wasn’t telling him he mun nivver leave thee for half an hour, then tha’d be telling him tha were leaving him ivver, till t’poor lad wouldn’t know whether he wor on his head or his heels.”
“And very nice for him too,” she replied. “He’d like it. Though you’re simply talking rot, of course. You don’t know anything about me really, not the least thing, and it’s simply cheek to say I should go on like that. But do you really think I would?”
“I’m saying nowt,” he began.
“And about time, too!”
“But I do knaw this. There’s a lad i’ this company I’ve got my eye on, and I’m feeling right sorry for him already.”
‚ÄúNow what‚ÅÝ‚Äîjust exactly what‚ÅÝ‚Äîdo you mean by that, Mr.¬ÝOakroyd?‚Äù
“He may be a good pianner-player. I don’t say he isn’t. They tell me he might easy mak’ a lot o’ money out o’ t’songs he’s doing. I don’t doubt it. But I’ve had my eye on him, and I say I’m right sorry for him. If he goes on t’way he’s shaping, he’ll land hissen in a mess, choose how it works out. If this lass he’s getting so sweet on won’t have him, then he’ll nivver knaw no peace. But if she does have him he’ll nivver knaw no peace neither.”
‚ÄúI never heard such stuff in all my life,‚Äù cried Susie. ‚ÄúAs if I‚ÅÝ‚Äîhe‚ÅÝ‚Äîanybody‚ÅÝ‚Äîoh, don‚Äôt be silly! And if he was getting like that‚ÅÝ‚Äîand of course he isn‚Äôt; he hasn‚Äôt known me five minutes, not that that makes much difference, I admit‚ÅÝ‚Äîwell, it wouldn‚Äôt be my fault, would it?‚Äù
‚ÄúNot so much your fault as his misfortin,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, with a grin.
‚ÄúNah, lad, nah, lad!‚Äù Susie snapped her fingers at him. ‚ÄúAnd if somebody had told me that a carpenter from Shuddersford could be beastly nosey, just like an old woman, I wouldn‚Äôt have believed them. Now just run away and do some work instead of talking scandal that you‚Äôve made up yourself and‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚Äîhere her voice sank and took on a bloodcurdling vibration‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äúpoisoning the mind and betraying the heart of A Young Girl, hardly more than a Chee‚Äëild and a Norphan. Go, Sir Jess.‚Äù
And that wicked baronet, pulling his little brown cap further down, did go, giving her a wink as he went. He entered the Pavilion through the stage door. If anybody had told him a fortnight ago he would be marching in through stage doors! Inside there was a nice little job waiting for him. When he had done that, had a chat with Joe and one or two of the others perhaps, smoked a pipe or two of Old Salt, there was the grand walk back to his lodgings and tea at the end of it. ‚ÄúGood afternoon, Mr.¬ÝOakroyd; your tea‚Äôs just ready and I‚Äôve done one of our special fat kippers you like so much.‚Äù
‚ÄúNah that‚Äôs a bit of all right, Mrs.¬ÝCullin,‚Äù he would reply; and then have his tea and a look at the paper, then a walk round and perhaps half a pint somewhere, then back to the Pier, taking his time; his own man, a chap that was knocking about a bit, and one of the Good Companions. Eh, but it was grand!
“Nay, lad,” he warned himself, “steady on, steady on a bit. Tha’s not asleep and dreaming. There’s bahnd to be a catch in it somewhere.”
And the second half of that week at Sandybay brought the catch.