Part 48 (1/2)

”No,” said Steve. ”That's right. Guess I must have been busy.”

Keggs uttered a senile chuckle and drank more beer.

”They're rum uns,”

he went on. ”I've been in some queer places, but this beats 'em all.”

”What do you mean?” inquired Steve, as a second chuckle escaped his companion.

”Why, it's come to an 'ead, things has, Mr. Dingle. That's what I mean.

You won't have forgotten all about the pampering of that child what I told you of quite recent. Well, it's been and come to an 'ead.”

”Yes? Continue, colonel. This listens good.”

”You ain't 'eard?”

”Not a word.”

Keggs smiled a happy smile and sipped his beer. It did the old man good, finding an entirely new audience like this.

”Why, Mr. Winfield 'as packed up and left.”

Steve gasped.

”Left!” he cried. ”Not _quit_? Not gone for good?”

”For his own good, I should say. Finds himself better off away from it all, if you ask me. But 'adn't you reelly heard, Mr. Dingle? G.o.d bless my soul! I thought it was public property by now, that little bit of noos. Why, Mr. Winfield 'asn't been living with us for the matter of a week or more.”

”For the love of Mike!”

”I'm telling you the honest truth, Mr. Dingle. Two weeks ago come next Sat.u.r.day Mr. Winfield meets me in the 'all looking wild and 'ara.s.sed--it was the same day there was that big thunder-storm--and he looks at me, gla.s.sy like, and says to me: 'Keggs, 'ave my bag packed and my boxes, too; I'm going away for a time. I'll send a messenger for 'em.' And out he goes into the rain, which begins to come down cats and dogs the moment he was in the street.

”I start to go out after him with his rain-coat, thinking he'd get wet before he could find a cab, they being so scarce in this city, not like London, where you simply 'ave to raise your 'and to 'ave a dozen flocking round you, but he don't stop; he just goes walking off through the rain and all, and I gets back into the house, not wis.h.i.+ng to be wetted myself on account of my rheumatism, which is always troublesome in the damp weather. And I says to myself: ”Ullo, 'ullo, 'ullo, what's all this?'

”See what I mean? I could tell as plain as if I'd been in the room with them that they had been having words. And since that day 'e ain't been near the 'ouse, and where he is now is more than I can tell you, Mr.

Dingle.”

”Why, he's at the studio.”

”At the studio, is he? Well, I shouldn't wonder if he wasn't better off. 'E didn't strike me as a man what was used to the ways of society.

He's happier where he is, I expect.”

And, having summed matters up in this philosophical manner, Keggs drained his gla.s.s and c.o.c.ked an expectant eye at Steve.

Steve obeyed the signal and ordered a further supply of the beer for which Mr. Keggs had a plebian and unbutlerlike fondness. His companion turned the conversation to the prospects of one of that group of inefficient middleweights whom Steve so heartily despised, between whom and another of the same degraded band a ten-round contest had been arranged and would shortly take place.

Ordinarily this would have been a subject on which Steve would have found plenty to say, but his mind was occupied with what he had just heard, and he sat silent while the silver-haired patron of sport opposite prattled on respecting current form.