COUSIN BEN.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2544, 3 July 1909, Page 3 (Supplement)

COUSIN BEN.

E - F^ncis.) “When the “mills in which Benjamin Wright worked were sold and many changes appeared to be impending, lie resolved to carry out a resolution which had been long dormant in his mind, and go to live with his cousins in the country. Margaret Norris had. first mooted the. .project on tile day of his wife’s funeral and Ben had waved the suggestion aside with some irritation; one change 'was enough for him, ho said; hO'Yeckoncd lio’d find it hard enough to get on without his missus—though she had been but a nesli poor body, not able to.do much work —without ring his whole way of life. the changes were comber against his will and he made up his nind that he might as well make one great and final change himself. ' Mrs Norris was delighted. Her’husband’s farm was a small one and they bad a long family, the stipend paid by Dousin Ben for hoard-'and lodging Ivould be a welcome addition to their ncome; moreover, having no children b.f his own and no other kin in the ivorld that she'ever heard of, 'be would be likely to leave his “bit o’ brass” nnirno r her kid-s and lasse* v lion ho [lied. ’Ho had worked hard all his life md must have saved a tidy bit, his wife had brought him a nice little lor-, tune, which, as Cousin Ben was a thrifty soul, must have increased rasher than diminished. Mrs Norris tv a s careful, however, to keep these expectations to herself; there was no knowing v/hen folks got talking, what mischief might be made, she observed very sage’v. To her husband she spoke under her hrea.th of the possibilities th e Future might hold for them; to her Friends and neighbors she mentioned Cousin Ben’s .advent in a casual way, Iwelling more on the benefits which Ivould accrue, to him, poor lone man, •ban on any likelihood of gain to her»elf.

| Many of Mrs Norris’ cronies were therefore under the impression that slio was taking in her widowed cousin more or loss out of chanty and were loud in their admiration of such disinterested conduct. Everyone 'without exception congratulated the absent Mr Wright on his change of domicile, and >pinod that “the poor owd chap would lardly know what to do tvvi’ liissel’ when ie. livin’ i’ the country instead oP'thrit nasty dirty town.”

There was ono exception to the gene--al rule, however. A certain Mrs Ann Waring, a widow, half-way in the. forces, hut one .who, if report spoke truly, vould not be averse to change her conlition.' From the very first she had refrained from joining in the chorus if approval which sounded so sweetly n Margaret’s ears, and remarked more ilian. once with disconcerting frankness ;hat she doubted Mr Wright made it veil worth her while to keep him, and noreover insinuated that when a body iad lived for nigh upon fifty years in

i, bustlin’ place same as Preston, he’d je like to find the Norris’ little farm lull. She was even tactless enough to •all on Margaret Norris,at the very moment of Cousin Ben’s arrival, and to make herself so officious in helping with preparations for tea, that her neighbor iould not for shame’s sake avoid asking her to share it. “Sit yo’ down, do Cousin Ben,” pursued Mrs Norris, “yo’ inun want a cu,p o’ tay for sure artef rour long journey.” Mr Wright,'a short round-shouldered nan of about fifty-five,, drew up his diair to the table and answered'in a somewhat ungracious tone that it hadn’t been so long as that eame to. Mrs Norris jerked open the oven door find brought out the toast and hot makes, and Ann with a sidelong glance it her, opined that Mr Wright would oe like to find the country a great change after the racket of Preston. Cousin Ben paused with a piece of teacake half-way to his mouth. “It don’t seem over an’ above quiet here,” ho returned. “All they - wick things —did onyhody ever hear such a din as tJfVre keepin’ up. A can’t he|\r hisself speak. I wonder vo’re not 1 all druv’ crazy.”

There was a general chorus of 'astonishment at this remark; Farmer Norris himself, who at that moment appeared in the doorway followed by two eldest enquired what mak’ o din his cou r '/(i meant. ? “Why, " dunnot yo’ ear? Theer s geese cacklin’, an’ cows lowin’, an’ pigo ■gruntin’, an’ all sorts. Do they keep up that mak’ o’ Fork all day long?” Mr Norris laughed till he was obliged to wipe his eyes. “My word, yo’ll soon get used to it,” he rejoined. “We don’t never tak’ no notice, o’ they things—do we, mother? Eh, I _ rcclcon yo’n a different mak’ o’ din i’ towns, hannot you’? Talk o’ goin’ crazy, when I’m forced to spend an hour at Liverpool or ony other town—wdiat wi’ thl carts an’ the carriages an’ the trams an’ the motor-cars hootin and tootin’, add the folk hustlin’ yo’ all xoads, I’m pretty nigh moidered. And •when it must be in a town same as jPreston wi’ the milf-bells' goin’ .and the. •crowds i’ the streets and the machinery -whirr-whirrin’ in your ears, eh, they Isay a mon can scarce hear hisself speak When the machines are goin’ in you Ben sfright smiled, and his face lit 'up as though the recollection dimmed him. “Ah, they mak’ a goodish bit o’ noise,” he said, “they do that, eh, hut I them. It seems to put life iu Aim on to feel they grca machines thumpin’ and whirrm , and to know the engines is roarin’ 111 - W° n ingine-houses. The whole place is alive, and that’s summat. Eh, I doubt I m like to miss Preston,” he added half to himself. ... ~ „ The Norris family, -now reinforced bj several younger members, seemed a trifle taken aback, but Mrs Waving remarked, with, her head cm one side, ( \y -

that she was sure it was very natural.' “’Tis what, folks as have been used to they values most,” she continued with the air of one making a great dm covery, then noting that this observation was not pleasing to the remainder, of the company, she exclaimed pervasively, if a trille maliciously: “Bat ' 11 give yo’ a week to lose yo’r heart to the country, Mr Wright; before" the week’s out yo’ll be tellin’ yo’rsel’ 'o’ never' knowed what ’twas to feel.yo’ e, ’appy before.” * ' “I don’t think that’s likely,” was Ben’s grim rejoiner. Mrs - Norris pushed back her char “Well, if everybody’s finished,” sho observed, “I might as well side the things I daresay yo’d like a stroll about the place wi’ the gaffer, Cousin Ben?” Cousin Ben agreed, and went sauntering forth with his -host, z'ound the fields, Mr Norris pausing every now and then to point out the beauties of his live stock, or . the promising appearance of the crops. “Theer’s a pig for you,” exclaimed the proprietor proudly, “sixteen score I shouldn’t wonder!” “What do yo’ mean by that?” enquired the other. “’Tis our way o’ reckoning, yo know; when .we coom to kill that chap his weight’ll be about that.” “Oh,” said Ben, glancing at the with great disfavor, “I reckon we townsfolk has the best, of it. I reckon a mon ’ull set down to his rasher wi’ a better appetite if he don’t stop to think wheer it’s coorn’d from.” The farmer took out his pipe as though to speak, but thinking better of it, wedged it firmly in the corner of his mouth again. As they passed the “shippon,” however, he felt constrained to be communicative once more. “Yon cow i’ tli’ corner is prize-bred,” he observed. “She’s the best I’ve got —a splendid mi’ker. .My word, the cream ’ull be standin’ on her'milk afore ’tis cool, a’most!” Cousin Ben appeared unimpressed. “I alius drinks condensed milk myself,” he remarked. “’Tis clean and wholesome and wonderful cheap.” “Well, tastes differ I mun say,” cried Mr Norris sarcastically. “I’m noan one as could ever stomach tinned stuff, and now wi’ all the tales that’s goin’ i’ th’ newspapers, it’s enough to make a body’s hair stand on end.” “If you was to believe all what's wrote in the .papers theer’d be no livin’ i’ this world,” commented Ben. “Well, that’s true,” conceded the farmer. “I’m. sure the politics alone is enough to moider a mon.” “Politics is different,” said Ben; “there’s twenty ways o’ lookin’ at politics an’ that’s what newspapers is good for —to point out a mon’s views. An’ if a mon hasn’t got no views, they male’ some for him, an’ edicate him.” The farmer gazed at him doubtfu.ly, almost apprehensively, and feeling himself out of his depths, hastily endeavored to change the conversation; but Cousin Ben talked on determined at once to air his own opinions and to remedy his cousin’s deficiencies, for he speedily detected the latter’s case was similar to that which he had so contemptuously pointed out. Farmer Norris had no pronounced views, and required in consequence to he educated. Therefore when the hapless farmer endeavored to elicit admiration for his well-grown wheat field Mr Wright discoursed of Protection ; when he observed that the turmits were makin’ a fine show his cousin held forth, on the Ground Game Act; when he talked of haymaking in the following week Ben desired to know his opinion of the Education Bill. Most unkind of all was his summary of their proceedings on returning to the domestic hearth. There weren’t much to look at, he informed Mrs Norris, but of course what ho looked for in takin a walk was company. He didn’t mean to say naught unpolite, but'a body met as well go for a walk wi’ one o’ they gate postses as with.her husband. On the following day, greatly to the scandal of Margaret and her neighbours, Mr Wright appeared in clogs—a description of footwear long abolished in that particular country district, and much looked down on by. its inhabitants. Mrs 'Norris was ready to die with shame, as she told her husband, when one friend after .another dropped in to see her cousin from town, and heard him clumping about in his wood-en-soled shoes.

“He must be .awfuf bad off,” said one .good woman; “I never knowed ye had kin so down i’ the. warld.”. It is one thing to earn a reputation for kind-heartedness and another- to own disreputable relations. Mrs Norris bridled as she returned that clogs was the, custom in Preston, an’ her cousin wore them from ch’ice, and could afford to'buy shoon, ah, an’ fill it up wi’ gold sovereigns if he’d a mind to. Ann Waring chanced to look in as she pronounced the last words, and Mrs Norris stopped short as she caught the gleam of satisfaction in her eye. Sitting down beside Mr Wright, Ann plied him with such a variety of questions that Margaret herself sulkily gave up the attempt to join in the conversation-. Much information concerning Preston joys and Preston ways was elicited from Cousin Ben; such a sympathetic and admiring listener as Ann appeared much to his taste, and by and bye Margaret, in the intervals of her own clattering performance of household duties, perceived that, not content with praising Preston, Cousin Ben was giving vent to his scorn of country folks and country ways. “Not a mon fit to speak to,” he observed. “I called at the Public laist meet, but they be a turnip-headed lot theer too->>thoy don’t know nowa about what’s goin’ on i’ the 'world —they care nowt’ o’ what’s to become o’ their own ■ country.” »- _< ■A• ■ ' I ' . . . ' ■ ■ ' /■. -j

Margaret clapped the kettle noisil; cn the hob, -and Ann, wren an ingratia ting glance at her, remarked that o course Mr Wright couldn’t expec everybody to be his equals. “Ye’d feel yesolf a deal happier i this snug little nook,” she continued “nor in any public.” “Snug!” exclaimed Cousin Ben wit] a short laugh. - Margaret, who had been poking tin fire, dropped the poker and turnec round. “Well, what have ye agin’ it, C-ousii Ben?” she. cried. “Speak plain. Whn have ye again’ this place, .wheer ye <wa: took in the minute ye chose to come an’ weel done, to, an’ made welcome?’ “Oh, yes,” agreed Bon, with a sar castic. laugh. “Made welcome to th< tune o’ ten shillin’ a week!”. Ann pricked her ears; ten shillin’ c week —that was summat. “Ton shillin’ a week!” sho exclaimec impulsively. “Ye mean seven or eight Mr "Wright, I’ms sure ? That’s the figure—Margaret Norris ’ud never go t< charge her own kin more.” “I never was one. to make favorites,’’ said Margaret sternly. “Kin or nc kin, it’s not worth my while to take a lodger for loss nor ten shillin’ a week. My cousin Ben has comforts here he wouldn’t have in no other place.” “Comforts!” ejaculated Cousin Ben contemptuously. “A lot o’ squallin’ children makin’ more noise tramplin’ -up an’ down the. stairs nor all the clogs in Preston. The smell o’ the pig-mate worse nor all the smoke nor all the mills i’ Lancashire. A cock crowin’ when a mon’s nobbut just got into bod, carts lumberin’ out o’ the yard afore its leet.” “Folks mun live,”' said Margaret with tearful wrath. “The waggon had to start early to he in time for the Livezypool market.” * “Well, give me Preston,” exclaimed Cousin Ben'thumping the table, “that’s all I says—give me Preston!” “Theer’s quieter places i’ the country nor a farm like this,” said Mrs Waring in her most dulcet tone, the outraged Margaret being . absolutely voiceless with indignation. “Poor Mrs Norris .does her best hut she has a long family, poor soul, an’ I doubt it’s as much as she can do to manage onyway. Now, theer’s my little cote nob-but a step fro’ here as ’ud suit ye better, Mr Wright. I’m used to takin’ lodgers, an’ my front room’s empty now. I know’s the value of a quiet life. My poor gaffer—my word, a quieter mon never stopped—if I was to keep up any clack-clacking i’ the house, fny word I’d have had his boots at my ’ead. My children is all up-grown an’ settled, an’ teer’s no wick things at my place. I make my livin’ so well as I can by takin’ inwashin’, an’ I’d make ye as comfortable a s ye could wish for eight shillin’ a •week, Mester Wright.” “Well, of all the bowld-faced hussies,” exclaimed Margaret, “to coom into ine own place an ’try an’ get the better of me! If ye’re- put to it for a couple o’ shillin’, Cousin Ben, there, I’ll—l’ll tak’ that much less.” “Thank ye, Cousin Margaret,” said Ben with an affable grin; “hut ye see it isn’t so much the brass, it’s the n’ise an’ the children, an’ that.” “Well, I ’m afraid I can’t get rid o’ my childer to oblige ye,” said Margaret with a snort. “Nay, nay, of course, ye couldn’t,” agreed Benjamin blandly. “I wouldn’t be for axin’ ye to do sich a thing, so I think it’ll be better if I do step down to Mrs Waring’s.” He carried out his resolve that same day, to the intense wrath of the Norrises, and the sympathetic disapproval of their friends. Ann, however, was triumphant. Not only had 1 she secured a most desirable lodger, but she cherished secret hopes of altering hef condition at no distant date. Never was a man surely so well taken care of as Cousin Ben; he was cosseted and flattered and made up to from mornipg till night. Owing to his dislike for noise Mrs Waring disposed of her laying hens, and in compliment to his dislike of the turnip-headed folk of the vicinity all visitors were discouraged. Ann alone talked to him, ministered to him, washed and mended for him and submitted to all his changes of humor with a meekness that was almost cringing. So a week and on Saturday Mr Wright wrote a letter which, in spite of Ann’s good-natured proffer to perform the errand, he carried to the post office himself. As he was smoking his pipe that evening he startled her by the. query: “Han yo’ got plenty to eat i’ the house?” “Well, theer’s a Inice bit o’ beei,"’ said Mrs Waring, fluttered, “more nor enough to last yo’ an’ me the week.” “I’m expectin’ a visitor- to-morrow,” volunteered Benjamin.

“Oh,” said Ann, a trifle frostily, “an’ what time, met the gentleman bo coming?” Ben eyed her rather queerJy as he responded he didn’t know the exact hour, but it would be in (good time, for dinner. Next morning he came down to breakfast in his best clothes, and appeared oddly elated and excited. He took up his .position in the. porch, but frequently rose from his seat and walk* ed impatiently to the gate, on the look out for his expected guest. At length •he remarked that he thought he would go a little way along the road, and setting on .his hat .at a jaunty angle, strolled forth.' Ann looked after him with pinched lips. “He mun be in an awful hurry to see this chap,” she said to herself, and thought that if he had had the feelings of a man, he 'would have shown a little more anxiety for her company. Though Ben had said that his friend would arrive in good time for dinner, it was past the hour and the beef was getting, unduly brown, when he burst 'into the house leading, not a male guest, as Ann had anticipated, but a

little elderly woman —a little woman very poorly dressed in rusty, threadbare black, with a figure Lowed by work and a face seamed by a very network of lines.

“This horo’§ Mrs Judson,” he -remarked, “an owd friend —an uncommon cwd friend.” “Sit yo’ down,” said Mrs waring, with freezing politeness. “I were 'o< ikin’ for ye to come in afore this, j.,-tester Wright. Its close upon one —an’ I’m sure I hope the beef’ll licwd out,” she added meaningly. “Yo towd me tlieer was plenty,” retorted Ben; “don’t take, that cheer, Jane, coom round here out o’ the draught. Coom that’s better. Now let’s have a gradely crack.. Coom, how’s-dear owd Preston?” Positively they seemed to have forgotten Ann’s existence, a mode of procedure which, though perfectly right when Margaret Norris was in question, now seemed absolutely insulting. Once again the merits of town were upheld in contrast to the backslidings of the country, hut this time it was not the noise and racket of the latter that called forth Mr. Wright’s objurgations, but the exceeding dulncss and lack of variety of his surroundings. “Neer a souzid fro’ morn till neet if yo’ll believe me,” he exclaimed, “never a soul to speak to without it’s Mrs Waring there. My word 1 tell ’ee I was forced to go an’ sit over yonder alongside of a thrashing machine to try if the din wouldn’t hearten mo up some road. If it had lasted mich longer I-reckon I’d ha’ gone silly.” “Well, then I’m sure I done all I could for yo’,” exclaimed Ann almost tearfully, “yo’d best go back to Margaret if yo’ can’t live wi’out noise and racket.”

“Nay. Mrs Waring,” responded Ben with an unctuous smile, “I don’t think I’ll go back to my Cousin Margaret’s thank yo’. Me and Mz-s Judson have made it up between us jest now, on our z-oad fro’ the station, as we’ll be shouted next week, an’ as soon as we’re tied together I’ll go back to livo wi’ her in Preston.”

THE RUN 0’ LUCK. (By Walter H. Holton, in the London “Daily News.”) Old Olaf Osmundsun cast a lingering look of pride round the trim deck of the “Hettie Jean” in tho fading light, and then clambered up on the quay with contentment in his heart. A few more, trips and the mortgage would be ' paid of for the craft, one of the best ever turned out of the Brixham yards. He made his way up street, where men gave /way for' him and were anxious to accord him the deference proper to an owner; besides, lie was the favored of the gods, the last few trips of the “Hettie Jean” had been so extraordinarily successful that her run ■of luck had grown a byword in every alehouse from West Quay to the dunes. He accepted the silent homage with the air of a man to whom it was due, and evolved in his mind a vision of golden prosperity the dawn of which was just breaking. He was almost the- owner of one smack; why not two, then three, and perhaps a whole fleet? More than ono large owner had started like that. Hettie, his flaxen-haired Hettie, should mai-ry well then; perhaps one of those dandy auctioneers down the quay; certainly not a common trawler hand. And himself —he would stroll round in a shore suit all day and be an oracle on all things, and men would listen respectfully, for he would be an owner. He shifted the sea boots from his shoulder as he crunched up the gravel .path of his garden, and his wife met him on the step and kissed him dutifully. Passing through to di-op his boots and shirt hag in the kitchen he stumbled over another pair of boots and a shirt hag in the passage. He eyed them, and the anger grew in his face. “What’s this, Jean?” he demanded wrathfully. “’Tis Ockey’s; he’s gone zip street wi’ Hettie,”' explained his wife. “Ockey!”. thundered the skipper. “What in the name of heaven should my dirty third hand be doin’ out wi’ my darter?” “You said of’n he was a nice lad, and ’d make a fine seaman in a year or two,” ventured his wife, “an’ Hettie seems unco’ fond o’ him. Young folks ’ll be young folks, Olaf.” . The skipper heaved the offending boots into the yard to ease his feelings, for ho never swore at home on principle, and ,preserved a stony silence during tea. His dreams shattered at the very outset. Anyway, tho Hettie Jean would be at sea again tomorrow, and he would soon settle Ockey then. He rolled down with his short sea stride to the snuggery of the Smack Inn, and for a few.' minutes dammed the eternal flow of criticism -on the shortcomings of the Government’s fishery officials with a recital of his own wrongs. Tho assembled skippers puffed in sympathetic 'silence. ' “My own third hand to hang round after! ray darter 1” declaimed the indignant Osmundsun; “’tis his own impudence; he’ll bo skipper next. JBut he’ll soon change his tune at sea t’morrer, or he. can get a fresh berth next trip.” , ■ “Well, I don’t know yo’d go to that, Olaf,” said Benny Cooper of the General' Gordon, after an awkward silence. “Eh! You wait an’ see.’’ “Ye’re old enough to know,” continued tho other quietly, “that ye can t break a lad’s love for a maid;. A amt the way of things, Olaf ;and ye nm ship a fresh third hand when yc smoked over it, for that’s temptm. Providence. ’Sides, a smart hand is Ockey.”

Osmundsun stiffened his. back. “Oh! you know more about it than I do, ’t seems,” lie said shortly.'Benny, Cooper knocked bis pipe out on the heel of his boot, and filled it afresh with slow deliberation. ’ -“It ain’t a dead secret about your run o’ luck the last three months,” bo said presently, “an’ ye’ve been to sea enough in Dutchmen an’ West Countrymen an’ others to know what happens to a craft in a run o’ luck as changes her hands, eli?” Osmundsun nodded. “The luck’ll change,” he said, gloomily. - ' “That’s so, ye’ll lose the lucky run an’ leave Ockey b’hind to do liis courtin’. An’ when lie gets a fresh berth ho takes the luck wi’ him. Ain’t sense, hardly, is ’t now?” The skipper of the Hettie Jean rose perplexed; he had come for sympathy and had got cornered every way.' Meanwhile the erring Hettie, a plump, laughing, fair-haired maid, with the iniquitous Ockey, trod an airy pathway to the Swallow’s Nest, talking hauls and shaping golden futures when Ockey had got his skipper’s ticket and had bought a smack. *,* * * * The Hettie Jean slipped out on the morning tide next day and wallowed dead east. The skipper had looked black and angry all day, a thing most unusual in him, but the greatest surprise was after supper, when the mate and Ockey went .up to take the watch; he stopped the. mate. “ I reckon I’ll take the first watch ’wi’ Ockey, Charlie,” -he said, . “I wanter think a bit, mebbe that’ll help me.” It was a clear starry night and Ockey sat on an empty fish trunk forward mending gear, and crooning gently to himself. The skipper lolled aft at the lashed tiller. “Ockey. I wanter talk wi’ you,” he said at length. The third hand dropped his tools and came aft. He had served as co-okboy in a West Country boat, and there was still the soft’ assent of the Cornish men in his speech. “Iss, skipper.” “You saw our Hettie last night?” “Iss, for sure.” His candidness nonplussed the skipper for a moment. “Well, you ain’t to do it again.” Ockey looked at him blankly. “Sure, ’tis barb’rous to say that, skipper,” he objected. Osmundsun’s temper was rapidly rising. “What d’ye mean?” ho shouted. “’Tis the barb’rous thing I ever knowed,” said Oekev slowly, “seein’ as I’m goin’ to wed tlio maid.” There was an air of con elusive ness in his tone, and the skipper, became dimly conscious of a power of decision about Ockey that he had not noticed before, i “You’re only a third hand,” he said with a sneer. “So wor ee once,” said the other quietly. The skipper played his last card; he leaned forward. “Listen t’ me, Ockey; you can’t marry on nothin’, and if I catch you round home again I’m shippin’ a new third hand next trip.” “Iss,” said Ockey, after a pause, in a tone of resignment, “if ’tis like that then I suppose I must go. ’Twer© my intention to speak afore to ye, skipper, but ye’ve been frownin’ like a thunder cloud all day, an’ I didn’t like to say. Anyway, I’ve a fresh berth out o’ harbor alius waitin’.” Osmundsun’s bluff bad failed him. The inherited superstitions of generations of sea-nursed ancestors gripped him; if Ockey really meant it and went, the run of luck would be broken. Still he could not have a berth ready waiting for him; the quay was full of men waiting to go to sea. “’A berth waitin’, you say; what craft?” “General Gordon.” “What! Benny Cooper’s boat?” “Iss.” . Then a light broke in upon the skipP er - , ' ' « * » * • Neither ventured to mention the. subject during the rest of the. trip, but when they reached harbor again and had cleaned down the skipper shouldered his shirt-bag and boots and hailed Ockey. < “Will you be cornin’ up to tea just now', Ockey?” And Ockey’s face was wreathed in smiles. “Iss, skipper; I’m cornin’ now.”