“Don’t worry; he’s a grand ’un,” he said. “I’m goin’ to look after ’im. Tell the old man I’ll see him right sometime. Come up, mi old cabhorse!” This to the piebald gelding, and the float began to turn and rocked and slipped over the rough yard. Flo saw the calf nodding as if he had no strength left except barely to keep his head up. She didn’t know even yet whether to let him go. But at the gate Jack gave a queer stiff flip with his left hand and then was hidden by the building. It was too late. A little pucker of worry came between her eyes, and as she went back to the house she considered whether to go upstairs at once and tell Mrs. Nadin.
Only when she got in Mrs. Nadin was down and snapped out before Flo could say anything, “Where’ve you bin?”
“A . . .a man came for a calf; I don’t know . . .”
“Where was Emmott? It’s none o’ your job.”
“I don’t know, but he said . . .”
“Who were it?” Mrs. Nadin interrupted.
“Knight . . . Ja . . .”
“Good cess you got rid of ’im!” she exclaimed. “Talk the hind leg off a dead donkey. Knows everything there is ta know an’ a dang seet more—ta hear him talk. Got it off his father. He talked till he even got tired o’ listenin’ to ’isself, so he went deaf. Deaf as dead mutton; and Jack’ll goo deaf an’ all. What was he after?”
“Calf . . . the one by its . . .”
“Did he pay?” demanded the little woman abruptly.
“No,” said Flo.
“Huh!” was the satisfied comment. “Into ’is pocket it would ’a gone and I’d ’a seen nowt. But we’ll see about this.”
She rolled back the wristbands of her tight black moire frock and went off into the pantry. Flo, relieved, walked back to the sink. Apparently there was nothing wrong about Jack Knight taking the calf, except as it affected Mr. Nadin. Dot was by the sink.
“Time you’d done,” she said coldly. “If you dawdle you’ll be no good here.”
Flo kept silent.
“Don’t you answer when you’re spoken to? Didn’t they teach you that in the paupers’ place?”
Flo nearly asked, “What paupers’ place?” but stopped just in time. “I didn’t know what there was to say,” she answered.
“Sulking won’t do you any good.”
“No,” said Flo.
“And don’t answer me back like that.”
“No,” said Flo again, flustered.
“No, what?”
“No . . . no . . .?”
“Don’t you know to say ‘miss’?”
“Eh! What’s that?” demanded Mrs. Nadin coming unexpectedly. “Lesson in manners? Lesson in daftness, more like. If you want ta start miss-ing an’ madaming, goo on th’midden; that’s best place for that muckment.”
Dot retorted: “You’ve no right to have a girl. You spoil them all. Of course she ought to say ‘miss’. Any maid should.”
“You shut you’re trap,” said Mrs. Nadin briskly, but without anger. “You’ve too much ta say, all of a piece. If she suits me she’ll suit you, or you lump it, as the Irishman said to the donkey when he shoved it to the mule.”
Dot did not reply, but stepped closer to the sink and when Flo stood aside pushed the kettle stiffly under the tap straight in front of her. Momentarily the water hit on the outside and splattered them, but it wet Flo more than Dot. As the fire was being poked to seat the kettle, Bert came in.
“What’s Jack payin’ for yon cawfe?” asked Mrs. Nadin at once.
“Didna know as he were takin’ one,” said Bert without interest.
“Nao, I thought not. Bit o’ ’bacca money as we’re non supposed ta know about. Your dad thinks he’s smart, but he’s non th’ony smart one.”
“It’ll be bull-calf,” said Bert. “Pass us the paper, Dot.”
“Get it yourself; you’re as well able to.”
Flo wondered what would happen when the farmer came. She felt guilty, as if she had made a trap for him. All at once she thought of taking the greasy water out to the grid on the excuse that it might choke the sink pipe. Then, possibly, she could warn him.
“Eh, where you goin’?” asked Mrs. Nadin. “Boilin’ water and soda’ll soon start th’pipe agen; dunna bother that road.”
Flo turned back, and a short time after heard the farmer coming. Before he was properly inside Mrs. Nadin was at him: “What about that bull-cawfe, you tight-fisted sinner?”
“Bull-cawfe?” he repeated, appearing to blink.
“Non of your soft,” snapped his wife belligerently. “That as Jack Knight took.”
“Didna know as he’d took it,” said the farmer with the same lack of hurry.
“Nao; but you know how much he’s payin’, an’ that’s what. Where do I get mi extras, eh? Odd shillings here, odd shillings there, all into thy long pocket and away ta keep th’ Kicking Donkey kicking.”
Mr. Nadin sat in the high-backed chair by the fire and asked Dot for his cup as if the tirade had nothing to do with him.
“Run this place on nowt, like Patsy’s donkey, for all you care. A belly on you like a tank when it comes ta beer; why the damn it doesn’t drown you beats me.”
No one appeared to be attending; only Flo felt that she was responsible. At first chance she’d tell the farmer she was sorry, but that it had all come about unexpectedly. After a brief space of silence she was astonished to hear the farmer quietly declare: