The Portion of Labor Part 56

"I'd rather work in the road," said Andrew. That autumn he was getting jobs of clearing up yards of fallen leaves, and gathering feed-corn and pumpkins, and earning a pittance. f.a.n.n.y continued to work on her wrappers. "It's a mercy wrappers don't go out of fashion," she often said.

"I suppose things that folks can get for nothing ain't so apt to go out of fashion," Andrew retorted, bitterly. He hated the wrappers with a deadly hatred. He hated the sight of the limp row of them on his bedroom wall. n.o.body knew how the family pinched and screwed in those days.

They were using the small fund which they secured from the house mortgage, Ellen's earnings, and f.a.n.n.y's and Andrew's, and every cent had to be counted, but there was something splendid in their loyalty to poor Eva in the asylum. The thought of deserting her in her extremity never occurred to them.

Mrs. Lloyd spoke of her that night, when she and Robert were talking together in the library.

"They are good folks, to keep on doing for that poor woman in the asylum," she said.

"They would never desert a dog that belonged to them," Robert answered, fervently. "I tell you that trait is worth a good many others, Aunt Lizzie."

"I guess it is," said his aunt. Then another paroxysm of pain seized her. She looked at Robert with a convulsed, speechless face. He held her hands more tightly, his own face contracting in sympathy, and watched his aunt with a sort of angry helplessness. But he felt as if he wanted to fight something for the sake of this poor, oppressed, innocent creature; indeed, he felt fairly blasphemous.

But this time the pain pa.s.sed quickly, and Mrs. Lloyd looked at her nephew with an expression of relief and gentleness which was almost angelic. When the pain was over she thought again of the Brewsters, and how they would not have forsaken her in her misery, had she belonged to them, any more than they had forsaken the insane aunt.

"They are good folks," said she, "and that is the main thing. That is the main thing to consider when you are marrying into a family, Robert. It is more than riches and position. The power they've got of loving and standing by each other is worth more than anything else."

"You are right, Aunt Lizzie, I guess there's no doubt of that," said Robert.

"And that girl's beautiful," said Mrs. Lloyd. She gazed at the young man with a delicate understanding and sympathy which was almost beyond that of a sweetheart. Robert felt as if a soft hand of tenderness and blessing were laid on his inmost heart. He looked at her like a grateful child.

"There isn't anybody like her, is there, Aunt Lizzie?" he asked.

"No, I don't think there is, dear boy," said Mrs. Lloyd. "I do think she is the sweetest little thing I ever saw in my life."

Robert brought his aunt's hand to his lips and kissed it. It seemed to him for a minute as if the love and sympathy of this martyr were almost more precious than the love of Ellen herself.

He realized when he was in his own room, and the house was quiet, how much he loved his aunt, and how hard her pain and probably inevitable doom were for him to bear. Then something came to him which he had never felt before--a great, burning anxiety and tenderness and terror over Ellen, because she was of the weaker half of creation, which is born to the larger share of pain in the world.

He felt that he would almost have given her up, yielded up forever all his delight in her, to spare her; for the pain of knighthood, which is in every true lover, awoke in his heart.

Chapter XLI

Nahum Beals was a laster in Lloyd's. Late in the autumn, when Ellen had been in the factory a little over a year, there began to be a subtle condition of discontent and insubordination. Men gathered in muttering groups, of which Nahum Beals seemed always to be the nucleus. His high, rampant voice, restrained by no fear of consequences, always served as the key-note to the chorus of rebellion. Ellen paid little attention to it. She was earning good wages, and personally she had nothing of which to complain. She had come to regard Beals as something of a chronic fanatic, but as she knew that the lasters were fairly paid, she had not supposed it meant anything. However, one night, going home from the factory, her eyes were opened. Abby and Maria Atkins and Mamie Brady were with her, and shortly after they had left the shop Abby stopped Granville Joy, Frank Dixon, and w.i.l.l.y Jones, who with another young man were swinging past without noticing the girls, strange to say. Abby caught Joy by the arm.

"Hold on a minute, Granville Joy," said she. "I want to know what's up with the lasters."

Granville laughed, with an uneasy, sidelong, deprecating glance at Ellen. "Oh, nothing much," said he.

w.i.l.l.y Jones stood still, coloring, gazing at Abby with a half-terrified expression. Dixon walked on, and the other young man, Amos Lee, who was dark and slight and sinewy, stared from one to the other with quick flashes of black eyes. He looked almost as if he had gypsy blood in him, and he came of a family which was further on the outskirts of society than the Louds had been.

When Granville replied "nothing much" to Abby's question, Amos Lee frowned with a swift contraction of dissent, but did not speak until Abby had retorted. "You needn't talk that way to me, Granville Joy,"

said she. "You can't cheat me. I know something's up."

"It ain't nothin', Abby," said Granville, but it was quite evident that he was lying.

Then Lee spoke up, in a sudden fury of enthusiasm. "There is somethin' up," said he, "and I don't care if you do know it.

There's--" he stopped as Granville clutched his arm violently and whispered something.

"Well, maybe you're right," said Lee to Joy. "Look here," he continued to Abby, "you and Ellen come along here a little ways, and I'll tell you."

After Maria and Mamie had pa.s.sed on, Joy and Jones and Lee, standing close to the two girls, began to talk, Lee leading.

"Well, look here," he said, in a hushed voice. "We've found out--no matter how, but we've found out--that the boss is goin' to dock the lasters' pay."

"How much?" asked Abby.

"Fifteen per cent."

"Good Lord!" said Abby.

"We ain't going to stand it," said Lee.

"I don't see how we can stand it," said w.i.l.l.y Jones, with a slightly interrogative tone directed towards Abby. Granville looked at Ellen.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Perfectly sure," replied Granville. "What do you think about it, Ellen?"

"What are you going to do?" asked Ellen, thoughtfully.

"Strike for fifteen per cent. more before he has a chance to dock us," cried Lee, with a hushed vehemence, looking about warily to make sure that no one overheard.

"The worst of it is, I know it all comes from Nahum Beals, and he's half cracked," said Abby, bluntly.

"He's got the right of it, anyhow," said Lee.

The two girls walked on, while the men lingered behind to talk.

"Do you suppose it is true, Abby?" asked Ellen.

"I don't know. I should, if it wasn't for that Lee fellow. I can't bear him. And that Nahum Beals, I believe he's half mad."

"I feel the same way about him," said Ellen; "but think what it would mean, fifteen per cent. less on their wages."

"It doesn't mean so much for those young fellows, except w.i.l.l.y Jones; he's got enough on his shoulders."

"No, but ever so many of the lasters have large families."

"I hope they don't drag w.i.l.l.y Jones into it," said Abby. She looked back as she spoke. w.i.l.l.y, in the little knot of men, was looking after her, and their eyes met. Abby colored.

"It's a shame to dock his wages," she said.

"Whose--w.i.l.l.y Jones's?"

"Yes. I hope he won't get into any trouble. I can't bear that Lee."