Reuben often went to the Cocks, for he had heard it[Pg 419] said that one\'s beer-drinking capacities diminished with old age, and he was afraid that if he stayed away, men would think it was on that account. So he went frequently, particularly if the weather was of a kind to keep old people at home. He did not talk much, preferring to listen to what was said, sitting quietly at his table in the corner, with the quart of Barclay and Perkins\'s mild which had been his evening drink from a boy.
It was at the Cocks that he learned most of Grandturzel\'s straits, though he occasionally made visits of inspection. Realf had messed his hops that autumn, and the popular verdict was that he could not possibly hold out much longer.
"Wot\'ll become of him, I w?onder?" asked Hilder, the new man at Socknersh.
"Someone \'ull buy him up, I reckon," and young Coalbran, who had succeeded his father at Doozes, winked at the rest of the bar, and the bar to a man turned round and stared at old Reuben, who drew himself up, but said nothing.
"Wot d\'you think of Grandturzel, Mus\' Backfield?" someone asked waggishly.
"Naun," said Reuben; "I\'m waiting."
He did not have to wait long. A few days later he was told that somebody wanted to see him, and in the parlour found his daughter Tilly.
He had seen Tilly at intervals through the years, but as he had never allowed himself to give her more than a withering glance, he had not a very definite idea of her. She was now nearly fifty-five, and more than inclined to stoutness—indeed, her comfortable figure was almost ludicrous compared with her haggard, anxious face, scored with lines and patched with shadows. Her grey hair was thin, and straggled on her forehead, her eyes had lost their brightness; yet there was nothing wild or terrible about her face, it was just domesticity in desperation.
"Father," she said as Reuben came into the room.
"Well?"
"Henry d?an\'t know I\'ve come," she murmured helplessly.
"Wot have you come fur?"
"To ask you—to ask you—Oh, f?ather!" she burst into tears, her broad bosom heaved under her faded gown, and she pressed her hands against it as if to keep it still.
"D?an\'t t?ake on lik that," said Reuben, "tell me wot you\'ve come fur."
"I dursn\'t now—it\'s no use—you\'re a hard man."
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