Hope Republican, Volume 2, Number 28, Hope, Bartholomew County, 2 November 1893 — Page 6

THE MAYOR OFGASTERBRIDGE BY THOMAS HARDYj ,v CHAPTER I.

One evening 1 of late summer, before the present century had reached its thirtieth year, a young man and woman, the latter carrying a child, were approaching the large village of Weydon Priors on foot. They were plainly but not ill clad, though the thicic hoar of dust which had accumulated on their shoes and clothing from an obviously long journey lent a disadvantageous shabbiness to their appearance just now that did not belong to it in ordinary times. The man was of line figure,swarthy and stern in aspect; and showed in profile a facial angle so slightly inclined as to be almost perpendicular. He wore a short jacket of brown corduroy, newer than the remainder of his suit, which was a fustian waistcoat with white horn buttons, breeches of the same, tanned leggins, and a straw hat overlaid with black glazed canvas. At his back he carried by a looped strap a rush basket from which protruded at one end the crutch of a hay knife, a wimble for hay bonds being also visible in the aperture. His measured springless walk was the walk of the skilled countryman as distinct from the desultory shamble of the general laborer; while in the turn and plant of each foot there was, further, a dogged cynical indifference, personal to himself, showing itself even in the regularly interchanging folds of his leggins, now in the left knee, now in the right, as he paced along. What was really peculiar, however, in this couple’s progress, and would have attracted the attention of any casual observer otherwise disposed to overlook them, was the perfect silence they preserved. They walked side by side iu such a way as to suggest afar off the low, easy, confidential chat of people wrapped in reciprocity; but, it could be discerned that the man wa.s reading, or seeming to read a balladsheet which he kept before his eyes with some difficulty by the hand that was passed through the basket strap. Whether this apparent cause were the real cause, or whether it was an assumed one to escape an intercourse that would have been irksome to him, nobody but himself could have said precisely; but this taciturnity was unbroken, and the woman enjoyed no society whatever from his presence. Virtually she walked the highway alone, save for the child she bore. Sometimes the man’s bent elbow almost touched her shoulder, for she kept as close to his side as was possible without actual contact; but she seemed to have no idea of taking his arm, nor he of offering it, and far from exhibiting surprise at his ignoring silence, she appeared to receive it as a natural thing If any word at all was uttered by the little group it was an •occasional whisper of the woman to the child —a little girl in short clothes and blue boots of knitted yarn—and the murmured babble of the child in reply. The chief—almost the only—attraction of the young woman’s face was what was imparted to it by its mobility. When she looked down sideways to the girl she became pretty, and even handsome, particularly because in the action her features caught slantwise the rays of the strongly-colored sun, which made transparencies of her eyelashes and nostrils, and set fire on her lips. When she plodded in the shade of the hedge, silently thinking, she had the hard, half apathetic expression of one who deems anything possible at the hands of Time and Chance except perhaps fair play. The first phase of the outcome of Nature, the second probably of civilization. That the man and woman were husband and wife, and the parents of the girl in arms, there, could be little doubt. No other than such relationship would have accounted for the distinctive atmosphere of domesticity which the. trio carried along with them like a nimbus as they moved down the road. The wife mostly kept her eyes fixed ahead, though with little interest — the scene for that matter being one that might have been matched at almost any spot in any county in England at this time of the year; a road neither straight nor crooked, neither level nor hilly, bordered by hedges, trees and other vegetation, which had entered the blackened-green stage of color that the doomed leaves pass through on their way to dingy and yellow and red. The grassy maig nof the bank and the nearest hedge-row leaves were powdered by the dust that had been stirred over them by hasty vehicles, the same dust as it lay on the road deadening their footfalls like a carpet; and this with the aforesaid total absence of conversation, allowed every extraneous sound to be heard. For a long time there was none

beyond the voice of a weak bird singing a trite old evening song that might doubtless have been heard on the same old hill, at the same hour, and with the self-same trills, high quavers and low breves, at any sunset of that season for the last thou- : sand years. But as they approached the village sundry distant shouts 1 and rattles reached their ears from some elevated spot in that direction, as yet screened from view by foliage. | When the outlying houses of Weyj don Priors could just be descried the group was met by a turnip hoen with 1 his implement on his shoulder and ! his dinner bag suspended therefrom. I Whatever the husband's absorption i in his sheet of ballads, it did not reni der him unconscious of the laborer’s , approach, and as soon as they near- ; ly confronted each other the reader | promptly glanced up. j “Any trade doing here?" he asked 1 phlegmatically, designating the vilj lage in his van by a wave of the broad sheet. And thinking the laborer did not understand him, he added, “Anything in the hay trussing line?” “Hay trussing?" said the turnip hoer, who had already begun shaking his head. Oh, no, Why, save the man, what wisdom’s in fashion that he should come to Weydon for a job of that sort this time o’ year? You be quite out of your bearings here if trussing is all that you can turn your hand to.” “Then is there any house to let—a little small new cottage just a budded, or such like?” asked the other. U“No, faith. Pulling down is more the nater of Weydon,” replied the pessimist. ‘ 'There were five houses cleared away last year and three this, and the fokes nowhere to go—no. not so much as a thatched hurdle; so that ’tis the way o’ Weydon Priors, when any stranger comes among ’em with a mind to bide to stare at him as cold as water. ” The hay trusser, which he obviously was. nodded with some superciliousness. Looking toward the village, he continued, “There is something going on here, however, is there not?” “Oh, ay. ’Tis Fair day. Though what you hear now is little mere than the clatter and scurry of getting away the money o' children and fools, for the real business is done earlier than this. I’ve been working in the sound o’’t all day but didn’t go up—not I. ’Twas no business of mine. And now I'm for home along.” The trusser and his family proceeded on their way and soon entered the fair field, which showed standing places and pens where many hundreds of horses and sheep had been exhibited and sold in the forenoon, 'but were now in great part taken away. At present, as their informant had observed, but little real business remained on hand, the chief being the sale by auction of a few inferior animals that could not otherwise be disposed of and had been absolutely refused by the better class of visitors, who came and went early. Yet the crowd was denser now than during the morning hours, the frivolous contingent of visitors, including journeymen out for a holiday, a stray soldier or two home on furlough, village shopkeepers and the like, having latterly flocked in, persons who found a congenial field among the peep shows, toy stands, waxworks, inspired monsters, disinterested medical men, who travel for the public good, thimble riggers, knick knack vendors and readers of fate. Neither of the pedestrians under notice had much heart for these things, and they looked around for a refreshment tent among the many on the down. Two which stood nearest to them in the ocherous haze of expiring sunlight seemed almost equally inviting. One was formed of new, railk-hued canvass, now kindled to orange on its western face, and bore red flags on its summit; it announced, “Good Home Brewed Ale and Cider.” The other was less new: a little iron stove pipe came out at tly» back and in front appeared the placard, “Good Furmity Sold Hear.” The man mentally weighted the two inscriptions and inclined to the former tent. “No —no —the other one,” said the other one. “I always like furmity; and so does Elizabeth T ane, and so will you. It is nourishing after a long, hard day.” “I’ve never tasted it,” said the man. However, he gave way to her representations and they entered the furmity booth forthwith. A rather numerous company appeared within, seated at the long, narrow tables that ran down the tent on each side. At the upper end stood a stove, containing a charcoal fire, over which hung a large three-logged crock, sufficiently polished round the rim to show that it was made of bell-metal. A haglike creature of about fifty presided, in a

white apron, which, as it threw an air of respectability over her as far as it extended, was made so wide, as to reach nearly round her waist. She slowly stirred the contents of the pot. The dull scrape, scrape of her large spoon was audible throughout the tent as she thus kept from burning the mixture of corn in the grain, milk, raisins, currants and what not, that composes the nourishing slop in which she dealt. Vessels holding the separate ingredients stood on a white-clothed table of boards and trestles close by. The young man and woman ordered a basin each of the mixture, steaming hot, and sat down to consume it at leisure. This was very well so far, for furmity, as the woman had. said, was .nourishing, and as proper a food as could be obtained within the four seas; though, to those not accustomed to it, the grains of wheat, swollen as large as lemon pips, which floated on its surface, might have a deterrent effect at lirst. But there was more in that tent than met the cursory glance; and the man, with the instinct of a perverse character, scented it quickly. After a mincing attack on his bowl he watched the hag’s proceedings from the corner of his eye, and saw the game she played. He winked at her, and passed up his basin in reply to her nod; when she took a bottle from under the table, slyly measured out a quantity of its contents, and tipped the same into the man's furmity. The liquor poured .in was rum. The man as slyly sent back money in payment. He found the concoction, thus strongly laced, much more to his satisfaction than it had been in its natural state. His wife had observed the proceeding with much uneasiness, but he persuaded her to have hers laced also, and she agreed to a milder allowance after some misgiving. The man finished his basin, and called for another, the rum being signaled for in yet stronger proportion. The effect of it was soon apparent in his manner, and his wife but too sadly perceived thaJ in her strenuous avoidance of the Scylla of the licensed liquor tent she only got into Charybdean depths here amongst the smugglers. The child began to prattle impatiently and the wife more than once said to her husband. “Michael, how about our lodging? You know we may have trouble in getting it if we don't go soon.” But he turned a deaf ear to these birdlike chirpings. He talked loud to the company. The child’s blue eyes, after slow, round, ruminating gazes at the candles when they were lighted, fell together; then they opened, then shut again and she slept. At the end of the first basin the man had risen to serenity. At the second he was jovial; at the third argumentative. At the fourth, the points signified by the shape of his face, the occasional clinch of his mouth, and the fiery spark of his dark eye, began to tell in his conduct: he was overbearing—even brilliantly quarrelsome. The conversation took a high turn, as it often does on such occasions. The ruin of good men by bad wives, and more particularly the frustration of many a promising youth’s high aims and hopes, and the extinction of his energies, by an early imprudent marriage, was the theme. “I did for myself that way thoroughly,” said the trusaer, with a contemplative bitterness that was wellnigh resentful. “I married at eighteen, like a fool that I was; and this is the consequence o’t.” He pointed at himself and family with a wave of the hand intended to bring out the penuriousness of the exhibition. The young woman, his wife, who seemed accustomed to such remarks, acted as if she did not hear them, and continued her intermittent private words on tender trifles to the sleeping and waking child, who was just big enough to be placed for a moment on the bench beside her when she wished to ease her arms. The man continued: “I haven’t more than fifteen shillings in the world, and yet I am a good experienced man in my line. I’d challenge England to beat me in the fodder business; and if I were a free man again I’d be worth a thousad pound before I’d done o't. But a fellow never knows these little things till all chance of acting upon ’em is past.” The auctioneer selling the old horses in the field outside could be i heard saying. 1 ‘Now this is the last | lot —now who'll take the last lot for ' a song? Shall I say forty shillings? i ’Tis a very promising brood mare, a ! trifle over five years old, and nothing j the matter with the boss at all, ex- | cept that she’s a little holler in the ! back and had her left eye knocked ! out by the kick of another, her own j sister, coming along the road.” ■ “For my part I don’t see why men | who have got wives and don’t want 1 ’em, should’nt get rid of ’em as these | gypsey fellows do their old horses, "said the man in the tent. 1 Why shouldn’t they put ’em up and sell j ’em at auction to men who are in want of such articles? Hey? Why,

begad, I’d sell mine this minute, if anybody would buy her.” “There’s them that would do that,” some of the guests favored. “True,” said a smoking gentleman. whose coat had the fine polish about the collar, elbows, seams and shoulder blades that long continued friction with oily products will produce, and whieh is usually more desired on furniture than on clothes. From his appearance he had possibly been in former times groom or coachman to some neighboring county family. “I’ve had my breedings in as good circles, I may say, as any man,” he added, “and I know true cultivation, or nobody do, and 1 can declare she’s got it—in the bonemind ye, I say—as much as any fet male in the fair —though it may wan, a little bringing out.” Then, crossing his logs, he resumed his pipe with a nicely adjusted gaze at a point in the tent-canvas. The fuddled young husband stared for a few seconds at this unexpected praise of his wife, half in doubt of the wisdom of his own attitude toward the possessor of such qualities. But he speedily lapsed into his former conviction, and said harshly: “Well, then, now is your chance; I am open to an offer for this gem of creation.” She turned to her husband and murmured, “Michael, you have talked this nonsense in public places before. A joke is a joke, but you make it once too often, mind.” “I know I’ve said it before; I meant it. All I want is a buyer.” At the moment a swallow, one among the last of the season, which had by chance found its way through an opening in the upper part of the tent, flew to and fro in quick curves above their heads, causing all eyes to follow it absently. In watching the bird till it made its escape the assembled company neglected to respond to the workman's offer, and the subject dropped. But a quarter of an hour later the man, who had gone on lacing his furmity more and more heavily, though he was either so strong-mind-ed or such an intrepid toper that he still appeared fairly sober, recurred to the old strain, as in a musical fantasy the instrument fetches up the original theme. “Here —I am waiting to know about this offer of mine. The woman is no good to me. Who’ll have her?” The company had by this time decidedly degenerated, and the renewed inquiry was received with a laugh of appreciation. The woman whispered; she was imploring and anxious; “Come, come, it is getting dark, and this nonsense won’t do. If you don’t come along I shall go without you. Come!” She waited and waited; yet he did not move. In ten minutes the man broke in upon the desultory conversation of the furmity drinkers with, “I asked this question, and nobody answered to’t. Will any Jack Rag or Tom Straw among ye buy my goods?” The woman’s manner changed, and her face assumed the grim shape and color of which mention has been made. “Mike, Mike.” said she: “this is getting serious. Oh—too serious?” “Will anybody buy her?” said the man. “I wish somebody would,” said she, firmly. “Her present owner is not at all to her liking!” “Nor you to mine,” said he. “So we are agreed about that. Gentlemen, you hear? It’s an agreement to part. She shall take the girl if she wants to, and go her ways. I’ll take my tools and go my ways. ’Tis simple as scripture history. Now then, stand up, Susan, and show yourself.” “Don’t, my chiel,” whispered a buxom staylace dealer in voluminous petticoats, who sat near the woman; “yer good man don’t know what he is saying.” The woman, however, did stand up. “Now, who’s the auctioneer?” cried the hay-trusser. “I be,” promptly answered a short man, with a nose resembling a copper knob, a damp voice, and eyes like button-holes. “Who’ll make an offer for this lady?” The womap looked on the ground, as if she maintained her position by a supreme effort of will. “Five shillings,” said some one, at which there was a laugh. “No insults,” said the husband. “Who'll say a guinea?” Nobody answered; and the female dealer in stay laces interposed. “Behave yerself moral, good man, for Heaven’s love! Ah, what a cruelty is the pore soul married to! Bed and board is dear at some figures, ’pon my ’vation ’tis!” “Set it higher, auctioneer,” said the trusser. “Two guineas!” said the auctioneer; and no one replied. “If they don’t take her for that, in ten seconds they’ll have to give more,” said the husband. “Very well. Now,auctioneer,add another.” “Three guineas—going for three guineas!" said the rheumy man. “No bid?” said the husband. Good Lord, why she’s cost me fifty times the mpney, if a penny. Go on.”

“Four guineas!” cried the auc* tl °TH tell ve /what-T won’t sell her for less than live,” said the husband, bringing down his list so the basins danced. “I’d sell her for five guineas to any man that will paj the money, and treat her well; and he shall have her forever and never hear aught o me. But she shan t o-o for 'ess. Now then—five guineas -and she’s yours. Susan, you “She bowed her head with absolute indifference. “Five guineas, said tne auctioneer “or she’ll be withdaawn. Do anybody give it? The last tune. Yes or no?” “Yes.” said a voice from the doorW Ail e yes were turned. Standing in the triangular opening which formed the door of the tent was a sailor, who, unobserved by the xest, had arrived there within the last two or three minutes, A dead silence followed his affirmation. “You say you do?” asked the husband, staring at him. “I sav co,” replied the sailor. “Saying is one tiling, and paying is another. Where’s the money? The sailor hesitated a moment, looked anew at the woman, came in, unfolded a crisp piece of paper, and threw it down upon the table-cloth. It was a Bank of England note for five pounds. Upon the face of this he chinked down the shillings severally—one, two, three, four, five. The sight of real money in full amount, in answer to a challenge for the same, till then deemed slightly hypothetical, had a great effect upon the spectators. Their eyes became riveted upon the faces of the chief actors, and then upon the note, as it lay, weighted by the shillings, oo the table. Up to this moment it could not positively have been asserted that the man, in spite of his tantilizing declaration, was really in earnest. The spectators had, indeed, taken the proceedings throughout as a piece of mirthful irony carried to extremes; and had assumed that, being out of work, he was, as a consequence out of temper with the world, and society, and his nearest kin. But with the demand and response of hard cash, the jovial frivolity of the scene departed. A lurid color seemed to filled the tent, and change the aspect of all therein. The mirth-wrinkles left the listeners’ faces, and they waited with parting lips. “Now,” said the woman, breaking the silence,-so that her low dry voice sounded quite loud, “before you go further, Michael, listen to me. If you touch that money, I and this girl go with the man. Mind, it is a Joke no longer.” “A joke? Of course it is not a joke!” shouted her husband, his resentment rising at her suggestion. “I take the money; the sailor takes you. That’s plain enough. It has been done elsewhere—-and why not here?” “ ’Tis quite on the understanding that the young woman is willing,” said the sailor, blandly. “I wouldn’t hurt her feelings for the world.” “Faith, nor I,” said her husband. “But she is willing, provided she can have the child. She said so only the other day when I talked o’t.” “That you swears'?” said the sailor to her. “1 do,” said she, after glancing at her husband’s face and seeing no repentance there. “Very well, she shall have the child, and the, bargain’s complete,” said the trusser. He took the sailor’s note and deliberately folded it. and put it witli the shillings in a high remote pocket with an air of finality. The sailor looked at the woman and smiled. "Come along!” he said, kindly. “The little one too—the more the merrier?” She paused for an instant, with a close glance at him. Then dropping her eyes again and saying nothing, she took child and followed him as he made toward the door. On reaching it she turned, and pulling off her wedding ring Hung it across the room in the hay-trusser’s face. 1 “Mike,” she said, “I've lived with thee a couple of years and had nothing but temper! Now I’m no more to you; I’ll try my luck elsewhere. ’Twill be better for me and the child both. So good bye,.” Seizing the sailor’s arm with her right hand, and mounting the little girl on her left, she went out of the tent, sobbing bitterly, and apparently without a thought that she was not strictly bound to go with | the man who bad paid for her. | A stolid look of concern filled the j husband’s face, as if, after all he | had not quite anticipated this end- ; ' n W- ail( l some of the guests laughed “Is she gone?” he said, j “Faith, ay, she gone clane enough, said some rustics near the door. • He rose and walked to the entrance with the careful tread of one conscious of his alcoholic load Some others followed, and they stood looking into the twilight. The dif ference between the peacefulness of