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<h2> 16. </h2>
<p>On this account Henchard's manner towards Farfrae insensibly became more
reserved. He was courteous—too courteous—and Farfrae was quite
surprised at the good breeding which now for the first time showed itself
among the qualities of a man he had hitherto thought undisciplined, if
warm and sincere. The corn-factor seldom or never again put his arm upon
the young man's shoulder so as to nearly weigh him down with the pressure
of mechanized friendship. He left off coming to Donald's lodgings and
shouting into the passage. "Hoy, Farfrae, boy, come and have some dinner
with us! Don't sit here in solitary confinement!" But in the daily routine
of their business there was little change.</p>
<p>Thus their lives rolled on till a day of public rejoicing was suggested to
the country at large in celebration of a national event that had recently
taken place.</p>
<p>For some time Casterbridge, by nature slow, made no response. Then one day
Donald Farfrae broached the subject to Henchard by asking if he would have
any objection to lend some rick-cloths to himself and a few others, who
contemplated getting up an entertainment of some sort on the day named,
and required a shelter for the same, to which they might charge admission
at the rate of so much a head.</p>
<p>"Have as many cloths as you like," Henchard replied.</p>
<p>When his manager had gone about the business Henchard was fired with
emulation. It certainly had been very remiss of him, as Mayor, he thought,
to call no meeting ere this, to discuss what should be done on this
holiday. But Farfrae had been so cursed quick in his movements as to give
oldfashioned people in authority no chance of the initiative. However, it
was not too late; and on second thoughts he determined to take upon his
own shoulders the responsibility of organizing some amusements, if the
other Councilmen would leave the matter in his hands. To this they quite
readily agreed, the majority being fine old crusted characters who had a
decided taste for living without worry.</p>
<p>So Henchard set about his preparations for a really brilliant thing—such
as should be worthy of the venerable town. As for Farfrae's little affair,
Henchard nearly forgot it; except once now and then when, on it coming
into his mind, he said to himself, "Charge admission at so much a head—just
like a Scotchman!—who is going to pay anything a head?" The
diversions which the Mayor intended to provide were to be entirely free.</p>
<p>He had grown so dependent upon Donald that he could scarcely resist
calling him in to consult. But by sheer self-coercion he refrained. No, he
thought, Farfrae would be suggesting such improvements in his damned
luminous way that in spite of himself he, Henchard, would sink to the
position of second fiddle, and only scrape harmonies to his manager's
talents.</p>
<p>Everybody applauded the Mayor's proposed entertainment, especially when it
became known that he meant to pay for it all himself.</p>
<p>Close to the town was an elevated green spot surrounded by an ancient
square earthwork—earthworks square and not square, were as common as
blackberries hereabout—a spot whereon the Casterbridge people
usually held any kind of merry-making, meeting, or sheep-fair that
required more space than the streets would afford. On one side it sloped
to the river Froom, and from any point a view was obtained of the country
round for many miles. This pleasant upland was to be the scene of
Henchard's exploit.</p>
<p>He advertised about the town, in long posters of a pink colour, that games
of all sorts would take place here; and set to work a little battalion of
men under his own eye. They erected greasy-poles for climbing, with smoked
hams and local cheeses at the top. They placed hurdles in rows for jumping
over; across the river they laid a slippery pole, with a live pig of the
neighbourhood tied at the other end, to become the property of the man who
could walk over and get it. There were also provided wheelbarrows for
racing, donkeys for the same, a stage for boxing, wrestling, and drawing
blood generally; sacks for jumping in. Moreover, not forgetting his
principles, Henchard provided a mammoth tea, of which everybody who lived
in the borough was invited to partake without payment. The tables were
laid parallel with the inner slope of the rampart, and awnings were
stretched overhead.</p>
<p>Passing to and fro the Mayor beheld the unattractive exterior of Farfrae's
erection in the West Walk, rick-cloths of different sizes and colours
being hung up to the arching trees without any regard to appearance. He
was easy in his mind now, for his own preparations far transcended these.</p>
<p>The morning came. The sky, which had been remarkably clear down to within
a day or two, was overcast, and the weather threatening, the wind having
an unmistakable hint of water in it. Henchard wished he had not been quite
so sure about the continuance of a fair season. But it was too late to
modify or postpone, and the proceedings went on. At twelve o'clock the
rain began to fall, small and steady, commencing and increasing so
insensibly that it was difficult to state exactly when dry weather ended
or wet established itself. In an hour the slight moisture resolved itself
into a monotonous smiting of earth by heaven, in torrents to which no end
could be prognosticated.</p>
<p>A number of people had heroically gathered in the field but by three
o'clock Henchard discerned that his project was doomed to end in failure.
The hams at the top of the poles dripped watered smoke in the form of a
brown liquor, the pig shivered in the wind, the grain of the deal tables
showed through the sticking tablecloths, for the awning allowed the rain
to drift under at its will, and to enclose the sides at this hour seemed a
useless undertaking. The landscape over the river disappeared; the wind
played on the tent-cords in aeolian improvisations, and at length rose to
such a pitch that the whole erection slanted to the ground those who had
taken shelter within it having to crawl out on their hands and knees.</p>
<p>But towards six the storm abated, and a drier breeze shook the moisture
from the grass bents. It seemed possible to carry out the programme after
all. The awning was set up again; the band was called out from its
shelter, and ordered to begin, and where the tables had stood a place was
cleared for dancing.</p>
<p>"But where are the folk?" said Henchard, after the lapse of half-an-hour,
during which time only two men and a woman had stood up to dance. "The
shops are all shut. Why don't they come?"</p>
<p>"They are at Farfrae's affair in the West Walk," answered a Councilman who
stood in the field with the Mayor.</p>
<p>"A few, I suppose. But where are the body o 'em?"</p>
<p>"All out of doors are there."</p>
<p>"Then the more fools they!"</p>
<p>Henchard walked away moodily. One or two young fellows gallantly came to
climb the poles, to save the hams from being wasted; but as there were no
spectators, and the whole scene presented the most melancholy appearance
Henchard gave orders that the proceedings were to be suspended, and the
entertainment closed, the food to be distributed among the poor people of
the town. In a short time nothing was left in the field but a few hurdles,
the tents, and the poles.</p>
<p>Henchard returned to his house, had tea with his wife and daughter, and
then walked out. It was now dusk. He soon saw that the tendency of all
promenaders was towards a particular spot in the Walks, and eventually
proceeded thither himself. The notes of a stringed band came from the
enclosure that Farfrae had erected—the pavilion as he called it—and
when the Mayor reached it he perceived that a gigantic tent had been
ingeniously constructed without poles or ropes. The densest point of the
avenue of sycamores had been selected, where the boughs made a closely
interlaced vault overhead; to these boughs the canvas had been hung, and a
barrel roof was the result. The end towards the wind was enclosed, the
other end was open. Henchard went round and saw the interior.</p>
<p>In form it was like the nave of a cathedral with one gable removed, but
the scene within was anything but devotional. A reel or fling of some sort
was in progress; and the usually sedate Farfrae was in the midst of the
other dancers in the costume of a wild Highlander, flinging himself about
and spinning to the tune. For a moment Henchard could not help laughing.
Then he perceived the immense admiration for the Scotchman that revealed
itself in the women's faces; and when this exhibition was over, and a new
dance proposed, and Donald had disappeared for a time to return in his
natural garments, he had an unlimited choice of partners, every girl being
in a coming-on disposition towards one who so thoroughly understood the
poetry of motion as he.</p>
<p>All the town crowded to the Walk, such a delightful idea of a ballroom
never having occurred to the inhabitants before. Among the rest of the
onlookers were Elizabeth and her mother—the former thoughtful yet
much interested, her eyes beaming with a longing lingering light, as if
Nature had been advised by Correggio in their creation. The dancing
progressed with unabated spirit, and Henchard walked and waited till his
wife should be disposed to go home. He did not care to keep in the light,
and when he went into the dark it was worse, for there he heard remarks of
a kind which were becoming too frequent:</p>
<p>"Mr. Henchard's rejoicings couldn't say good morning to this," said one.
"A man must be a headstrong stunpoll to think folk would go up to that
bleak place to-day."</p>
<p>The other answered that people said it was not only in such things as
those that the Mayor was wanting. "Where would his business be if it were
not for this young fellow? 'Twas verily Fortune sent him to Henchard. His
accounts were like a bramblewood when Mr. Farfrae came. He used to reckon
his sacks by chalk strokes all in a row like garden-palings, measure his
ricks by stretching with his arms, weigh his trusses by a lift, judge his
hay by a chaw, and settle the price with a curse. But now this
accomplished young man does it all by ciphering and mensuration. Then the
wheat—that sometimes used to taste so strong o' mice when made into
bread that people could fairly tell the breed—Farfrae has a plan for
purifying, so that nobody would dream the smallest four-legged beast had
walked over it once. O yes, everybody is full of him, and the care Mr.
Henchard has to keep him, to be sure!" concluded this gentleman.</p>
<p>"But he won't do it for long, good-now," said the other.</p>
<p>"No!" said Henchard to himself behind the tree. "Or if he do, he'll be
honeycombed clean out of all the character and standing that he's built up
in these eighteen year!"</p>
<p>He went back to the dancing pavilion. Farfrae was footing a quaint little
dance with Elizabeth-Jane—an old country thing, the only one she
knew, and though he considerately toned down his movements to suit her
demurer gait, the pattern of the shining little nails in the soles of his
boots became familiar to the eyes of every bystander. The tune had enticed
her into it; being a tune of a busy, vaulting, leaping sort—some low
notes on the silver string of each fiddle, then a skipping on the small,
like running up and down ladders—"Miss M'Leod of Ayr" was its name,
so Mr. Farfrae had said, and that it was very popular in his own country.</p>
<p>It was soon over, and the girl looked at Henchard for approval; but he did
not give it. He seemed not to see her. "Look here, Farfrae," he said, like
one whose mind was elsewhere, "I'll go to Port-Bredy Great Market
to-morrow myself. You can stay and put things right in your clothes-box,
and recover strength to your knees after your vagaries." He planted on
Donald an antagonistic glare that had begun as a smile.</p>
<p>Some other townsmen came up, and Donald drew aside. "What's this,
Henchard," said Alderman Tubber, applying his thumb to the corn-factor
like a cheese-taster. "An opposition randy to yours, eh? Jack's as good as
his master, eh? Cut ye out quite, hasn't he?"</p>
<p>"You see, Mr. Henchard," said the lawyer, another goodnatured friend,
"where you made the mistake was in going so far afield. You should have
taken a leaf out of his book, and have had your sports in a sheltered
place like this. But you didn't think of it, you see; and he did, and
that's where he's beat you."</p>
<p>"He'll be top-sawyer soon of you two, and carry all afore him," added
jocular Mr. Tubber.</p>
<p>"No," said Henchard gloomily. "He won't be that, because he's shortly
going to leave me." He looked towards Donald, who had come near. "Mr.
Farfrae's time as my manager is drawing to a close—isn't it,
Farfrae?"</p>
<p>The young man, who could now read the lines and folds of Henchard's
strongly-traced face as if they were clear verbal inscriptions, quietly
assented; and when people deplored the fact, and asked why it was, he
simply replied that Mr. Henchard no longer required his help.</p>
<p>Henchard went home, apparently satisfied. But in the morning, when his
jealous temper had passed away, his heart sank within him at what he had
said and done. He was the more disturbed when he found that this time
Farfrae was determined to take him at his word.</p>
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