Chapter III: At Rutherford's

RUTHERFORD'S boilers were known all over the world, and it was at Rutherford's works that Adam Livesey wielded his hammer day after day. He was the subject of many a joke, on account of his silent, unsocial ways, and yet most of his fellow workmen felt kindly towards him. They could hardly do otherwise, for the man never resented their gibes, sometimes did not appear to hear them. If he contributed nothing to their enjoyment by his sayings, he took no offence at theirs, and did not attack the speakers in turn.

"Adam, lad," said one of them, as the striker paused to wipe the moisture from his brow, "have ye heard aught about the new manager that's coming?"

"No," was the brief reply.

"If saving words would save pence, Adam would be a rich man," put in another.

"'A still tongue makes a wise head,' they say. Do you believe that, Adam? I should think you must, or you wouldn't be so quiet. But, man, if it is true, how wise you must be!"

A general laugh followed this speech, and Adam smiled, somewhat grimly, for the words reminded him how he had longed to be something different from what he actually was.

"If Adam Livesey had been the first Adam that ever lived, I don't believe he would have felt lonely if no Eve had been given to him."

"Yes, I should, mates. I never was fond of being alone."

"Then you would stand by, for company, and let the other do the talking, eh, Adam?"

No response this time. There was work ready again, and the striker's hammer was raised to deliver one of those ponderous blows the sound of which was usually ringing through the smithy during working hours. But when another pause took place, the subject of the new manager was again introduced, and Adam listened attentively to what was said about him. He knew that Mr. John Rutherford, the junior partner, who had hitherto been the acting manager, had broken down in health, and was going abroad for some months. He had always been looked upon as the very life of the whole concern, and it was a matter of wonder and anxiety as to what Rutherford's would be without "our Mr. John."

"It will want a first-rate man to stand in his shoes," was the general verdict; "for Mr. John knows when a man understands his work. And likely, for when he came here, a lad, he went through his degrees, and learned the whole business up and down."

"A good thing for the men when the master does know what work means," said a steady old hand, who, like Adam, was not given to much talking.

"I don't say that," interposed another, whose face showed signs of intemperance, and in whose unsteady hand the tool shook again, as he paused in its use.

"I should have said it is good for the men whose minds are made up to do an honest day's work for a fair day's wages," returned the older man, with a half-pitying, half-contemptuous look at the trembling hand of the last speaker. "It isn't good in the eyes of those who try how little they can do for their money. I have always respected Mr. John for being a first-rate workman, as well as a fair dealing master, and I only hope the new manager may turn out to be after the same pattern. You've seen him, Jim. What is he like?"

"A clever-looking man. Got both eyes open, and won't be easy to gammon, I should say. Depend on it, he knows how many sixpences go to half a crown, and how much work should go into nine hours and a half. He came up to me, as the foreman brought him through, and he asked me a question. I thought I'd have him on a bit, and find out what he knew, but I'd better have let it alone. He made me look foolish, I can tell you, and I only hope he'll not remember my face when he starts here for good."

The speaker, Jim, was reckoned "a sharp un," a sort of workshop oracle, and his account of the coming manager was eagerly listened to. After Jim's experience, the conclusion come to was that Mr. Drummond would not be easily "done."

"They say he goes about preaching o' nights," remarked another. "Queer that, isn't it?"

"So long as he doesn't try on his preaching with me, he may do it where he likes," said Jim. "I should stand none o' that. I didn't agree for it, and it never did agree with me;" and Jim made a comical, wry face, as if he had just been trying to swallow something which would not go down.

"I only wish any preaching would do thee good, Jim," said the old workman, with a kindly look. "You've a deal in you that I like, for, if you've got a thing to do, you go at it with a will. But I can never stand your way of making fun of preachers that try to help their neighbours into the road that leads to heaven. If you won't go along with them, there's no need to make game and hinder other folks by laughing them out of it. You can see for yourself that if people go from comfortable firesides, where they have their wives and children, and could have more pleasant company besides—if they leave these, I say, where all is bright and tempting and cheerful, and go out into the dark lanes and miserable dirty homes, it must be out of love for Christ, and love for the souls He died to save. When a man gives time and strength, kind words and loving labours to those who are poorer than he is, and nought akin, and is certain that if he does it all his life he'll never be a penny the richer, you can't say that it's for his own sake."

Most of this talk took place during the dinner-hour, and as the speaker finished there were murmurs of assent from the men who were seated round. The old workman was much respected at Rutherford's.

Jim tried to raise another laugh against him, but not succeeding, he turned again upon Adam Livesey, who had been an eager but silent listener.

"You'll be the chap for the new manager to preach to, Adam," said he. "You're the one to take all in and give naught out. Eh, lad! I wish my wife were like you."

Jim's wife was known to possess a shrill tongue and a sharp temper, both of which were easily roused into action, but not easily stilled. Happily for him, he bore both with equal good humour, and either answered jestingly or got out of the way till the storm was over. His words now raised a laugh at his own expense, and when it subsided, the men rose and went back to work again.

Adam Livesey had not seen the new manager when he visited Rutherford's. In fact, he could hardly be called the manager yet. He was only chosen and appointed to fill that post, not actually in it. It would be a month, the men had heard, before Mr. Drummond could leave his present situation to enter upon the new one, and some regrets were expressed on account of the delay. Not, of course, that the men wanted to see anybody else filling the shoes of their grand favourite, Mr. John. But they saw that the latter gentleman was "looking bad," and thought the sooner he was away the better, and the more chance there would be of his coming back well. He was not to take the place of managing partner any more. Mr. Drummond, if all went well, was to be a fixture; but it would be pleasant to have Mr. John in and out amongst them, though taking things more easily than of old.

Adam Livesey said less than anybody about these things, but probably no one thought more of the new manager, or looked more eagerly for his coming, than did the silent striker.