Part 33 (1/2)

”I can't say it was. I think I'd had too much ale, and then something more there--b.u.t.tered rum. That was my undoing.” His laughter sounded to himself feeble and unwelcome.

”You mean nothing happened?”

”Nothing much.... No, d.a.m.n it, nothing--I spilled at the gates. I think maybe I didn't really wish to go. Mr. Shawn----”

Reuben's words raced and ran together: ”Well, the devil fly off with your friend Shawn, and couldn't the son of a b.i.t.c.h stand by you and you so drunk? Do you know you was stepping direct for that quicksand?”

”I--was?”

”We might have gone down in it.”

”Well--wait, Ru! It was no fault of Shawn. I left him at the house. He was still with his wench when I was ready to go, and some-way I didn't wish to see him then, so I came off alone.”

”Oh.” His face still averted, his thin hands motionless on the books, Reuben muttered: ”Sorry, Ben. The cork popped out of the bottle and I spattered. My regrets.” He started getting dressed, and Ben knew his chatter was mainly for his own benefit: ”Beware the lightning after breakfast--Pontifex is not wholly pleased with our Benjamin, and will be summoning the cohorts of Ovid, his _Tristia_; Ramus, his _Logic_; Cicero, his honorificabilitudinitatibus.”

”Ow-ooh!”

”What--coach wheels?”

”I thought that was my head.”

”No,” said Reuben, and flung open the window. ”Something's afoot.”

”If on wheels, how should it be--ow! Shut that arctic window, you b.l.o.o.d.y worm!” But as Ben tried to creep under the covers, Reuben hauled a corner of them over his shoulder and marched to the door with it, his good humor restored, peeling Ben raw to the April breeze. He wadded the bedclothes into a spherical snarl out of Ben's reach, heaved that into the closet, barked in some satisfaction, and ran downstairs. Ben could plainly make out the squeak and rattle of coach wheels from the driveway before the house. He leaped for his clothes--unwisely, considering his head--and paused to reflect on the uses of sobriety.

The fat horses were lathered, blowing in relief at the halt. From the parlor window Reuben saw the girl alight before the coachman's hand could aid her, a square small maiden in a hurry. As Kate Dobson opened the door he heard fright, determination and embarra.s.sment in the throaty voice: ”I must speak with Mr. Kenny--'tis most urgent.”

Kate was fluttering. ”He's at breakfast, my dear.”

Reuben intervened, startled as she abruptly swung to him, a miniature whirlwind with sea-blue eyes. Some blurred yellowish phenomenon pa.s.sed her feet--a dog apparently, not relevant unless Mr. Eccles should choose that moment to come downstairs. ”I'll take you to him,” Reuben said, and Kate relaxed at the authority of a man in the house.

”You are Mr. Cory's brother.”

”Madam, the charge is well founded.”

”This,” said Charity, ”is no time for schoolboy levity.”

”Ow-ooh!” said Reuben, and stood to attention by the dining-room doorway as Charity pa.s.sed, and the dog. In a woolgathering way, the animal acknowledged Reuben's feet, but had no time for them. It was mere carelessness, not sin, that made Reuben leave the door open as he followed Charity with all the meekness of Sultan.

Pleased and then alarmed, Mr. Kenny jumped up, winced at his bad foot and clutched the table-edge. ”Charity, my dear, what lucky wind----”

”Sir, Faith said I'd best be the one to bring word, seeing Mama is prostrated and--and so--so I----” she lapsed into stuttering confusion and stamped her foot in rage at her own behavior.

”Breathe slow, my dear,” said the old man, no longer smiling. ”Count to four, my dear, then to eight by twos. Now: two, four, six----”

”Eight, ten, twelve,” said Charity, and shuddered. ”Pray don't be prostrated, Mr. Kenny, the way Mama said you was sure to be. I'd not know what to do.”

”Now sit thee down,” said John Kenny. ”I shall undertake not to be prostrated, and a'n't thy bonnet-strings a little tight?”

Standing by her chair, Reuben briefly recalled the sensation of living as a pigmy in a world of giants. ”Mama saith, never no such thing happened here in all her time. My father--he--well, when they brought the news he heard something and came downstairs, but he--but he....”