The record-union., 1897-08-02
THE MAN FROM Stall BRIDGE

lie was a pIate-layeT, anu the pap
tismaI register described him as James
Redfern, though the Woffendale folk
knew him simply as the Man Tor, to
be precise the Chap from Stalybridge.
He was grave of demeanor and slow Of
speech, but his few words were forcible
and his arguments convincing, being
backed by a fist about whose size and
weight there could be no possible
doubt He was also a good workman
and a boon companion. When he got
drunk, his Morse blood showed itself
by his manner of bursting into rea-
sonable coherent song, usually oratorio,
with which he was tolerably familiar.
One Saturday night the senior curate
of Saint Barnabas' met an ebriated
giant staggering jovially along and
roaring out at the full pitch of a pow
erful baritone, 1.-THE Lord is a Man of
War;" The senior curate was shocked;
he was new to the place.
The Man from Stalybridge harmonized
with his surroundings perhaps it would
be more correct to say he dominated
them. The smoke and dirt and CRIME
of WOffendale; the throbbing engines
gliding hither and thither on those
shining lines that crossed and re-
crossed each other in bewilderfng tan
gle at the junction Sudden and awful
death within a few feet of him we'll
nigh every minute of the day.; the
sinister gloom that, like the shadow
Of the Destroying Angel, lowered over
the city as twilight fell, lit by the fierce
red of furnace fiames-all these but
seemed to emphasize the figure of the
man as he went to and fro in the
midst Never for a moment was he
obscured by either light or darkness.
Always he stood out clearly, whether
at work or rest, drunk or sober. Wheth-
er the swift engine-lights flashed over
him standing motionless amid the
crossing metals, or whether the yellow
gas-lamps revealed him rolling home
singing songs of David, or the smoke
dimmed morning sunshine fell on him
going to his work. he was always
strong, capable, decisive.
He lodged in one of a dozen or so of
shabby little houses beside the railway,
called Station Row. The Row was
hardly an ideal place of residence,
though the sturdy Lancashire folk
liked it well enough. Broad daylight
showed it at its worst; at night the out
look was better, sometimes even pic
turesque, because one saw less and i'm
agined more. Only a narrow footpath
separated the doorsteps of Station
Row from the railway AS this path
was usually full of children, the Man
from Stalybridge often walked to and
from his work along the line. Thus
passing, whether by line or path, most
of the idle gossip of the place reached
his ears; and thus he became aware
that a slatternly woman who lived
about four doors off had got a lodger;
a fact that disposed some of her neigh
bors to envy her, till a rumor spread
abroad that the lodger found difficulty
in paying the rent; whereupon. public
opinion veered round and regarded the
ledger in the light of a judgment upon
an unpopular member of the commu-
nifty. AS time went on it became
known also that the lodger was
woman, lady, young and i'll, and that
a doctor was reported to have seen her
and to have said the case was hopeless.
The news caused a pleasant excitement
in Station Row, and came, with the
rest, in due time, to the ears of the
MAN from Sta1yDr1dge.
One afternoon in early April he
CHANGED to return from work by the
footpath. The day had been rainy. but
now at D o'clock the clouds Parted, drift
ing away eastward in dusky masses:
and burst of pale sunshine lit the
cleaning puddles, the dripping caves,
the wet shining metals. In the path
stood barrow full of dark wallfiowers.
their scent filing the fresh damp air.
There was the sound of an opening win
dow, and the Man from Stalybridge.
glancing up at the woman who leaned
out, looked into a face of almost per-
1ect beauty-such beauty as he had new
er seen, never imagined. The features
were perhaps a little sharpened by ILL
ness, the temples a trifie sunken, the
color on the cheeks too bright yet there
was the beauty, and the man stared
upward with dazzled eyes, unconscious
that he was staring.
Throw a bunch upi" she cried to the
fiower-seller, f1inging some pennies into
the barrow; and her voice was sweet
as blackbird's whistle The movement
of her arm in its close sleeve of rough
blue serge seemed to awaken the man
IL O4AA Ills lIdilCts 1OT lie SLOWLY turned
and went on his way. When he reached
his lodgings he dropped heavily into a
chair and wiped his forehead with his
arm. His landlady, busting about with
his tea, observed that the weather was
warm for the time of year, to which
proposition he assented mechanically.
Later, he spent hilarious evening at
the Seven Stars, highly popular host
lery known more Familiarity as the Dust
hole. The beer was mixed, and so We're
his ideas, with the result that strains
from Samson floated on the murky
air somewhere between II and u that
might.
Some three weeks later the spring
swung back to winter, and the April
days were filed with bitter and driving
sleet; and the Man from Stalybridge,
coming home in hailstorm. heard the
high pitched voice of the woman who
owned the lodger. Apparently the lat
ter's rent was owing, and the landladys
opinion of the situation was sufficiently
loudly expressed, as the front door stood
ajar, to reach the ears of the plate-layer
He stopped and waited. Presently the
woman came down and saw him stand
ing outside in the pelting hail.
What dost want?" she demanded