Krindlesyke Part 18

JUDITH: Not your home now.

JIM: Then who the devil's home ...

JUDITH: It's Ruth's and Michael's.

JIM: My daughter's and her man's: their home's my home.

JUDITH: You shall not stay.

JIM: It's got to "shall not" now?

The cuckoo's changed his tune; but I can't say I like the new note better: it's too harsh: The gowk's grown croupy. But, la.s.s, I never thought You'd be harsh with me: yet even you've turned raspy ...

First "cannot," then ...

JUDITH: Nay! I'll not have their home Pulled down about their ears by any man; And least of all by you--the home they've made ...

JIM: Stolen, I'd say.

JUDITH: Together, for themselves And their three boys.

JIM: Jim, granddad three times over?

It's well you broke it piecemeal: the old callant's A waffly heart; and any sudden joy Just sets it twittering: but the more the merrier!

JUDITH: You shall not wreck their happiness. I'd not dreamed Such happiness as theirs could be in this world.

Since it was built, there's not been such a home At Krindlesyke: it's only been a house ...

JIM: 'Twas just about as homely as a hea.r.s.e In my young days: but my luck's turned, it seems.

JUDITH: It takes more than four walls to make a home, And such a home as Michael's made for Ruth.

Though she's a fendy la.s.s; she's too like me, And needs a helpmate, or she'll waste herself; And, with another man, she might have wrecked, Instead of building. She's got her man, her mate: Husband and father, born, day in, day out, He works to keep a home for wife and weans.

There's never been a luckier la.s.s than Ruth: Though she deserves it, too; and it's but seldom Good la.s.ses are the lucky ones; and few Get their deserts in this life.

JIM: True, egox!

JUDITH: Few, good or bad. But Ruth has everything-- A home, a steady husband, and her boys.

There never were such boys.

JIM: A pretty picture: It takes my fancy: and the dear old grannie, Why do you leave her out? And there's a corner For granddad in it, surely--an armchair On the other side of the ingle, with a pipe And packet of twist, and a pot of nappy beer, Hot-fettled four-ale, handy on the hob?

Ay: there's the chair: I'd best secure it now.

(_As he seats himself, with his back to the door, the head of BELL HAGGARD, in her orange-coloured kerchief, peeps round the jamb: then slowly withdraws, unseen of JIM or JUDITH._)

JIM: Fetch up the swipes and s.h.a.g. I can reach the cutty ...

(_He takes down MICHAEL's pipe from the mantel-shelf; and sticks it between his teeth: but JUDITH s.n.a.t.c.hes at it, breaking the stem, and flings the bowl on the fire._)

JUDITH: And you, to touch his pipe!

(_JIM stares at her, startled, as she stands before him, with drawn face and set teeth: then, still eyeing her uneasily, begins to bl.u.s.ter._)

JIM: You scarting randy!

I'll teach you manners. That's a good three-halfpence Smashed into smithereens: and all for nothing.

I've lammed a wench for less. I've half a mind To snap you like the stopple, you yackey-yaa!

De'il rive your sark! It's long since I've had the price Of a clay in my pouch: and I'm half-dead for a puff.

What's taken you? What's set you agee with me?

You used to like me; and you always seemed A menseful body: and I lippened to you.

But you're just a wheepie-leekie weatherc.o.c.k Like the lave of women, when a man's mislucket, Moidart and mismeaved and beside himself.

I fancied I'd be in clover at Krindlesyke, With you and all: but, sink me, if I haven't Just stuck my silly head into a bee-bike!

What's turned you vicious? I only want to smoke A cutty in peace: and you go on the rampage.

I mustn't smoke young master's pipe, it seems-- His pipe, no less! Young c.o.c.k-a-ride-a-roosie Is on the muckheap now; and all the hens Are clucking round him. I ken what it is: The c.o.c.kmadendy's been too easy with you.

It doesn't do to let you womenfolk Get out of hand. It's time I came, i' faiks, To pull you up, and keep you in your place.

I'll have no naggers, narr-narring all day long: I'll stand no fantigues. If the cull's too soft ...

JUDITH: Soft, did you say? I've seen him hike a man, And a heftier man than you, over a d.y.k.e, For yarking a lame beast. That drover'll mind-- Ay, to his dying day, he'll not forget He once ran into something hard.

JIM: Ay--ay ...

He's that sort, is he? My luck is out again.

I want a quiet life, to be let alone: And Krindlesyke won't be a bed of roses, With that sort ramping round. (_Starting uneasily._) What's that? I thought ...

There's no one in the other room, is there?

I've a feeling in my bones somebody's listening.

You've not deceived me, Judith? You've not trapped ...

I'm all a-swither, sweating like a brock.

I little dreamt you'd turn against me, Judith: But even here I don't feel safe now.

JUDITH: Safe?

JIM: So you don't know? I fancied everyone kenned.

Else why the devil should they stare like that?

And when you, too, looked ... Nay, how could you learn?

I'm davered, surely: Seppy Shank's rum Has gone to my noddle: drink's the very devil On an empty waim: and I never had a head.

What have I done? Ay, wouldn't you like to ken, To holler on the hounds?

JUDITH: Jim!

JIM: But what matter Whether you ken or not? You've done for me Already, dang you, with your hettle-tongue: You've put the notion in my head, the curs Are on my scent: and now, I cannot rest.

Happen, they're slinking now up b.l.o.o.d.ysyke, Like adders through the bent ... Nay, they don't yelp, The hounds that sleuth me: it's only in my head I hear the yapping: they're too cunning to yelp.

The sleichers slither after me on their bellies, As dumb and slick as adders ... But I'm doitered, And doting like a dobby. I want to sleep ...

A good night's rest would pull my wits together.

I swore I'd sleep ... but I couldn't close an eye, now Since ...

JUDITH: Jim, what ails you? Tell me what you've done.

I'm sorry, Jim ...

JIM: I swear I never set out To do it, Judith; and the thing was done, Before I came to my senses: that's G.o.d's truth: And may h.e.l.l blast ... You're sorry? Nay, but Jim's Too old a bird to be caught with chaff. You're fly: But, Jim's fly, too. No: mum's the word.

JUDITH: O Jim, You, surely, never think I'd ...

JIM: I don't know.

A man in my case can't tell who to trust, When every mongrel's yowling for his carcase.