Sarah's School Friend Part 43

'Put the pieces to be made on to the machines--the lengths of blanketing or cloth,' said Sarah.

'Excuse me, Mr George, but Mr Blakeley is here,' said Ben the gate-keeper, coming into the office.

'Who is Mr Blakeley?' inquired George.

'He's one of our buyers, sir,' replied the man.

'Oh George, I know him! Do have him shown in here,' entreated Sarah. 'He is such a nice, good-humoured man.'

But circ.u.mstances alter cases, and Sarah was surprised to find that the good-natured Mr Blakeley, whom she always saw smiling and ready to complete a deal with her Uncle Howroyd, became a brusque, serious business man with her brother.

'I have an order on hand here, Mr Clay; but I should prefer if you will allow me to cancel it. I understand that there are changes in the mills, and it is rather particular that it should be woven exactly as it was,'

he said, after having made some curt and perfunctory inquiries after Mr Mark Clay's health.

George evidently did not understand what he meant, and was just saying, with his usual courtesy, 'Oh, certainly; we should not, of course, hold you to your word.'

But Sarah broke in. She had been used to talk to these men when they came to see her uncle, and they had all admired the handsome girl, and showed her attention to please her uncle, who was evidently very fond of her and proud of his niece. So she felt no shyness with Mr Blakeley, and said, 'What difference do the changes make, Mr Blakeley? My father did not weave the cloth, and the manager and foremen who looked after these things are still here.'

Mr Blakeley looked at her, and an amused smile crept over his face at her business-like tone. 'Quite true, Miss Sarah; but the weavers of this particular cloth have left, I understand, and I would rather not trust it to new ones.'

'Of course not,' began George.

But Sarah interrupted again. 'You'd better hear what our manager has to say. Father won't be pleased if he finds we have sent good customers away.'

'There's a good business woman for you!' cried Mr Blakeley with a laugh.

''Tis a pity you are not a man; you could go into partnership with your brother and father.'

Meanwhile George had acted on Sarah's advice, and sent for Mr Hurst, who came at once. 'There's no call for you to withdraw your order, Mr Blakeley. We've got the wools you asked for, and there's one of the weavers who has done your cloth before, so I think you may be easy in your mind about its being done as well as ever. We're turning out some fine work, and there's a new shade you might find useful, which perhaps you'd like to see.'

Mr Blakeley p.r.i.c.ked up his ears at the news of a new shade, and went off quite eagerly with the manager.

George heaved a sigh of relief. 'You pulled us through that time, Sarah; but it won't always go like that. I can't push.'

'You must, or you'll get pushed to the wall; but I have had another inspiration since I came down. Why don't you weave a lot of coat-lengths of that new shade? It's much more suitable for that than for blankets.'

'I thought the same thing when I saw it, and said something of the kind to father, and he said he should try samples. They were almost the last words he said to me that day before he left me.'

'It was only yesterday,' observed Sarah.

George stared at her. 'So it was! I can hardly believe it. It seems weeks ago; but I am glad you reminded me of it, for it will please father to find we have carried out his wishes, and I think it might "catch on," as he said.'

'The fact is, you've got dazed with the shock. I believe you felt it more than I did. I am very sorry for father being ill, and I think the hands who burnt our house behaved disgracefully, and I'm glad they were turned off; but I can't help feeling that it was father's own fault, and that perhaps it will do him good.'

'It's not our business to judge his treatment of his employes. He was a very liberal father to us,' said George.

'You are not so hard-hearted'----began Sarah; but a prolonged ringing at the telephone interrupted her.

'It's mother,' she announced, 'and she's calling for you.'

George went and listened. 'Father is conscious, and has asked for us,' he cried, and his face lightened.

'I'm very glad,' replied Sarah quietly; but her face showed no such joy as her brother's. It is to be feared that where her father was concerned Sarah was somewhat hard-hearted.

'We must go at once,' said her brother, taking up his hat.

'I don't think you ought to leave the mill till the dinner-hour. The bell will ring in a quarter of an hour. Can't you wait till then?' objected Sarah, who, as is seen, was more business-like than her brother, thanks to her intercourse with her uncle Howroyd.

'Perhaps you are right. Then you had better go, and say I will be there almost directly,' he suggested.

Sarah started with mingled feelings. She was glad, really glad, that her father had recovered consciousness, and was therefore, she supposed, getting better; but the fact was, Sarah felt very resentful and sore that he had made himself so hated, and she walked very slowly along the streets that separated her father's mills from Mr Howroyd's.

''E knows me, Sarah!' cried her mother, whose face was transfigured with joy. 'Thanks be to G.o.d, 'e knows me, my dear 'usband!'

For the life of her, Sarah could not show any great joy, but only inquired, 'Has he asked for me, or is it only George he wants to see, mother?'

''E mentioned you both, an' asked w'ere Sally was,' said her mother, forgetting, in her great relief, the small detail that Sarah disliked being called so.

'Then I'd better go to him and tell him George will come in as soon as he can leave the mills,' said Sarah, preparing to go into the sitting-room, which was still being used as the stricken man's bedroom.

'Don't you say any such thing! Don't you breathe a word about the mills or Balmoral or anything. 'E's not to be excited, the doctor says. I've 'alf a mind to tell 'im 'e shall see you by-and-by; it would be a dreadful thing if you were to upset 'im. You don't always get on too well with your father, Sarah,' Mrs Clay wound up reproachfully.

'I sha'n't say anything to upset father while he is lying there so ill. I only meant to explain why George did not come at once,' explained Sarah.

'You needn't explain. Sick folk don't want explanations,' objected Mrs Clay. 'Say George is out.'

'Very well,' agreed Sarah, and she went into the sick-room. It was a relief not to see her father lying there with unseeing eyes and breathing so heavily; but, somehow, Sarah felt very uncomfortable under his keen glance to-day. Still, she managed to say, 'I am glad you are better, father.'

'Ay, I'm going to get better; but I'll never be the man I was. I've made a mess of it, Sally, and I shall not leave you the big fortune I meant you to have to match your pretty face, my little la.s.s. I've not done right, and I shall never be able to do it now,' said the sick man.

'Yes, you will, father. You will be all right in a few weeks, and you can make another fortune, and build Balmoral again,' cried Sarah eagerly, as she impulsively took her father's hand, and then started on finding that it lay limp in hers.

A spasm pa.s.sed over the invalid's face at her words; and if Mrs Clay had not been too much afraid of her husband she would have stopped Sarah and sent her away. As it was, she gave a little groan from the background, as much as to say, 'You've done the very thing I told you not to do.'

'There'll never be another Balmoral. It would take me too long, and I doubt if Clay's Mills will ever be themselves again. I'd like those fellows to be sent off the minute the contract's done. It'll take them another week; but I'll be glad to see the backs of them. I wish they'd never come,' said Mr Clay, who seemed to have a feverish desire to talk.

'They've gone, father,' said Sarah.

But this was too much for Mrs Clay's patience. 'That'll do, Sarah. Your father's not got to talk business w'ile 'e's so bad.--There, Mark, don't you worry; everything's going on as well as can be expected,' she said, in what she thought was a soothing tone.

Her husband waved her aside. 'Let be, Polly! Let the la.s.s speak; I must know the worst.--So they've gone, the villains! When they thought I was done for, the rats forsook the sinking ship. Ay, 'twas a bad day for us, was yon. Well, that ends it! The credit of Clay's Mills has gone for ever. I'd best not get better. You'll have a little something to live on; and that's all I've done with my toiling and moiling. I'm best dead,' he said.

Mrs Clay grasped Sarah's arm in a convulsive grip. 'Don't breathe another word. I forbid you!'

Sarah felt sure she should do more good by speaking; but she remained obediently silent.

'It's strange--a sick man's fancy, I suppose--but I thought I heard our bell. There's no mistaking it. And, hark! there it is again. Am I light-headed, Polly, or what's that bell I heard?' he asked.

'No, Mark, no, you're not light-headed; it is your own bell. All's goin'

as well as can be expected,' replied poor Mrs Clay.