Book 5 - Chapter 7 - Page 2

stimulus
but the potent wine of triumphant joy. He did not choose any back
street to-day, but rode slowly, with uplifted head and free glances,
along the principal street all the way to the bridge.

Why did he not happen to meet Wakem? The want of that coincidence
vexed him, and set his mind at work in an irritating way. Perhaps
Wakem was gone out of town to-day on purpose to avoid seeing or
hearing anything of an honorable action which might well cause him
some unpleasant twinges. If Wakem were to meet him then, Mr. Tulliver
would look straight at him, and the rascal would perhaps be forsaken a
little by his cool, domineering impudence. He would know by and by
that an honest man was not going to serve _him_ any longer, and lend
his honesty to fill a pocket already over-full of dishonest gains.
Perhaps the luck was beginning to turn; perhaps the Devil didn't
always hold the best cards in this world.

Simmering in this way, Mr. Tulliver approached the yardgates of
Dorlcote Mill, near enough to see a well-known figure coming out of
them on a fine black horse. They met about fifty yards from the gates,
between the great chestnuts and elms and the high bank.

"Tulliver," said Wakem, abruptly, in a haughtier tone than usual,
"what a fool's trick you did,--spreading those hard lumps on that Far
Close! I told you how it would be; but you men never learn to farm
with any method."

"Oh!" said Tulliver, suddenly boiling up; "get somebody else to farm
for you, then, as'll ask _you_ to teach him."

"You have been drinking, I suppose," said Wakem, really believing that
this was the meaning of Tulliver's flushed face and sparkling eyes.

"No, I've not been drinking," said Tulliver; "I want no drinking to
help me make up my mind as I'll serve no longer under a scoundrel."

"Very well! you may leave my premises to-morrow, then; hold your
insolent tongue and let me pass." (Tulliver was backing his horse
across the road to hem Wakem in.)

"No, I _sha'n't_ let you pass," said Tulliver, getting fiercer. "I
shall tell you what I think of you first. You're too big a raskill to
get hanged--you're----"

"Let me pass, you ignorant brute, or I'll ride over you."

Mr. Tulliver, spurring his horse and raising his whip, made a rush
forward; and Wakem's horse, rearing and staggering backward, threw his
rider from the saddle and sent him sideways on the ground. Wakem had
had the presence of mind to loose the bridle at once, and as the horse
only staggered a few paces and then stood still, he might have risen
and remounted without more inconvenience than a bruise and a shake.
But before he could rise, Tulliver was off his horse too. The sight of
the long-hated predominant man down, and in