A working man gifted with brains and comeliness
must, be sure of it, pay penalties for his prominence.
Quite another man was Daniel Dabbs: in him you saw the proletarian
pure and simple. He was thick-set, square-shouldered, rolling in
gait; he walked with head bent forward and eyes glancing uneasily,
as if from lack of self-confidence. His wiry black hair shone with
grease, and no accuracy of razor-play would make his chin white. A
man of immense strength, but bull-necked and altogether
ungainly--his heavy fist, with its black veins and terrific
knuckles, suggested primitive methods of settling dispute; the
stumpy fingers, engrimed hopelessly, and the filthy broken nails,
showed how he wrought for a living. His face, if you examined it
without prejudice, was not ill to look upon; there was much good
humour about the mouth, and the eyes, shrewd enough, could glimmer a
kindly light His laughter was roof-shaking--always a good sign in a
man.
'And what have _you_ got to say of these fine doings, Mr. Dabbs?'
Mrs. Mutimer asked him.
'Why, it's like this 'era, Mrs. Mutimer,' Daniel began, having
seated himself, with hands on widely-parted knees. 'As far as the
theory goes, I'm all for Dick; any man must be as knows his two
times two. But about the Longwoods; well, I tell Dick they've a
perfect right to get rid of him, finding him a dangerous enemy, you
see.
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