The Broad Highway

"Extremely unpleasant!" said I.

"Just what he done this marnin' wi' Sam," nodded the Innkeeper

--"hove un out into the road, 'e did."

"And what did Sam do?" I inquired.

"Oh! Sam were mighty glad to get off so easy."

"Sam must be a very remarkable fellow--undoubtedly a

philosopher," said I.

"'E be nowt to look at!" said the Ancient.

Now at this moment there came a sudden deep bellow, a hoarse,

bull-like roar from somewhere near by, and, looking round in some

perplexity, through the wide doorway of the smithy opposite, I

saw a man come tumbling, all arms and legs, who, having described

a somersault, fell, rolled over once or twice, and sitting up in

the middle of the road, stared about him in a dazed sort of

fashion.

"That's Job!" nodded the Ancient.

"Poor fellow!" said I, and rose to go to his assistance.

"Oh, that weren't nothin'," said the Ancient, laying, a

restraining hand upon my arm, "nothin' at all. Job bean't 'urt;

why, I've seen 'em fall further nor that afore now, but y' see

Job be pretty heavy handlin'--even for Black Jarge."

And, in a little while, Job arose from where he sat in the dust,

and limping up, sat himself down on the opposite bench, very

black of brow and fierce of eye. And, after he had sat there

silent for maybe five minutes, I said that I hoped he wasn't

hurt.

'Urt?" he repeated, with a blank stare. "'Ow should I be 'urt?"

"Why, you seemed to fall rather heavily," said I.

At this Job regarded me with a look half resentful, half

reproachful, and immediately turned his back upon me; from which,

and sundry winks and nods and shakes of the head from the others,

it seemed that my remark had been ill-judged. And after we had

sat silent for maybe another five minutes, the Ancient appeared

to notice Job's presence for the first time.

"Why, you bean't workin' 's arternoon then, Job?" he inquired

solemnly.

"Noa!"

"Goin' to tak' a 'olleyday, p'r'aps?"

"Ah! I'm done wi' smithin'--leastways, for Black Jarge."

"And him wi' all that raft o' work in, Job? Pretty fix 'e'll be

in wi' no one to strike for 'im!" said Simon.

"Sarves un right tu!" retorted Job, furtively rubbing his left

knee.

"But what'll 'e do wi'out a 'elper?" persisted Simon.

"Lord knows!" returned the Ancient; "unless Job thinks better of

it."