Henchard looked on the ground, said nothing more, and turned away. During the day Farfrae learnt from the men that Henchard had kept Abel's old mother in coals and snuff all the previous winter, which made him less antagonistic to the corn-factor. But Henchard continued moody and silent, and when one of the men inquired of him if some oats should be hoisted to an upper floor or not, he said shortly, "Ask Mr Farfrae. He's master here!"Morally he was; there could be no doubt of it. Henchard, who had hitherto been the most admired man in his circle, was the most admired no longer.
One day the daughters of a deceased farmer in Durnover wanted an opinion on the value of their haystack, and sent a messenger to ask Mr Farfrae to oblige them with one. The messenger, who was a child, met in the yard not Farfrae, but Henchard.
"Very well," he said. "I'll come."
"But please will Mr Farfrae come?" said the child.
"I am going that way... Why Mr Farfrae?" said Henchard, with the fixed look of thought. "Why do people always want Mr Farfrae?""I suppose because they like him so - that's what they say.""Oh - I see - that's what they say - hey? They like him because he's cleverer than Mr Henchard, and because he knows more; and in short, Mr Henchard can't hold a candle to him - hey?""Yes - that's just it, sir - some of it."
"Oh, there's more? Of course there's more! What besides? Come, here's sixpence for a fairing.""""And he's better-tempered, and Henchard's a fool to him,"" they say.
And when some of the women were a-walking home they said, ""He's a diment - he's a chap o' wax - he's the best - he's the horse for my money,"" says they. And they said, ""He's the most understanding man o' them two by long chalks. I wish he was the master instead of Henchard,"" they said.""They'll talk any nonsense," Henchard replied with covered gloom. "Well, you can go now. And I am coming to value the hay, d'ye hear? - I."The boy departed, and Henchard murmured, "Wish he were master here, do they?"He went towards Durnover. On his way he overtook Farfrae. They walked on together, Henchard looking mostly on the ground.
"You're no yoursel' the day?" Donald inquired.
"Yes, I am very well," said Henchard.
"But ye are a bit down - surely ye are down? Why, there's nothing to be angry about! 'Tis splendid stuff that we've got from Blackmoor Vale.
By the by, the people in Durnover want their hay valued.""Yes. I am going there."
"I'll go with ye."
As Henchard did not reply Donald practised a piece of music sotto voce, till, getting near the bereaved people's door, he stopped himself--"Ah, as their father is dead I won't go on with such as that. How could I forget?""Do you care so very much about hurting folks' feelings?" observed Henchard with a half sneer. "You do, I know - especially mine!""I am sorry if I have hurt yours, sir," replied Donald, standing still, with a second expression of the same sentiment in the regretfulness of his face. "Why should you say it - think it?"The cloud lifted from Henchard's brow, and as Donald finished the corn-merchant turned to him, regarding his breast rather than his face.
"I have been hearing things that vexed me," he said. "'Twas that made me short in my manner - made me overlook what you really are. Now, I don't want to go in here about this hay - Farfrae, you can do it better than I. They sent for 'ee, too. I have to attend a meeting of the Town Council at eleven, and 'tis drawing on for't."They parted thus in renewed friendship, Donald forbearing to ask Henchard for meanings that were not very plain to him. On Henchard's part there was now again repose; and yet, whenever he thought of Farfrae, it was with a dim dread; and he often regretted that he had told the young man his whole heart, and confided to him the secrets of his life.
HARDY: The Mayor of Casterbridge - * XVI *
