Part 4 (1/2)
”Why, Mr. Bulpert!” With a quick change of manner to a newcomer.
”This is a pleasant surprise. Mr. Trew was talking about you not two days ago.”
The young man took the chair near the counter and, giving it a twirl, sat down heavily, and rested his chin on the back. ”I'm putting on too much avoirdupois,” he said gloomily. ”Sat.u.r.day, I had to get into evening dress, and it was as much as I could do to make the waistcoat b.u.t.tons meet.”
”You ought to take more exercise.”
”What's the use of talking like that? If I take more exercise, I find myself with a bigger appet.i.te, and then I'm worse off than ever.” He dismissed the problem as insoluble. ”Where's Gertie? I've got a new recitation that she'd very much like to hear. I place a certain value on her criticism.”
”I'll call her down. And, Mr. Bulpert, I want you to be as nice and pleasant to her as you can. I had to talk rather sharply to her not many days ago; now I'd like to make it up. I'm bound to say she took it very well.”
”You won't forget,” he urged, ”that I'm a man who can always get any amount of refined society. Sought after as I am for _al fresco_ concerts and what not--”
”I know,” agreed Mrs. Mills. ”Only Gertie hasn't many friends, and I want her, just now, to make the most of 'em.”
She called her niece, and Gertie came, turning the page of a book, ent.i.tled, ”Hints for Gentlewomen.” Gertie offered her hand to Bulpert, and remarked that he was growing stout; he advised her, with some vehemence, to take to gla.s.ses before her eyesight became further impaired. Mrs. Mills went back to the shop with a waggish caution against too much love-making. Bulpert, after s.h.i.+fting furniture, took up a position on the white hearthrug, and gave a stirring adventure in the life of a coastguardsman who saved from a wreck his wife and child.
At the end, Bulpert mopped face, readjusted collar, and waited for congratulations.
”Did you make it up out your own head, Mr. Bulpert?”
”I did not make it up out of my own head,” he said resentfully. ”That isn't my line, and well you know it. It was written by a chap your cousin, Clarence Mills, introduced me to.”
”Ask him to write it again. It seems to me a stupid piece. The wife's been away for ten years, and the baby is eighteen months old.”
”That does require a slight alteration. But what about my rendering of it?”
”Overdone,” answered Gertie. ”If only you'd stand up and say them quietly, your pieces would go a lot better.”
”But I've got to convey the meaning to the ordience.”
”Give 'em credit for some intelligence. When the coastguardsman is going out to the wreck, it isn't necessary to wave your arms about like a windmill. You say he's swimming, and that's enough. And if a floating spar knocked him senseless before he got to the wreck, I don't believe he could take them both in his arms and swim back to the sh.o.r.e.”
”It says he did in the poetry,” contended Bulpert with warmth. ”The whole fact of the matter is that you don't in the least know what you're talking about.” A sound of voices came from the shop, and Gertie flushed. ”Now it's no use your getting hot-tempered about it,”
he went on. ”You speak your mind to me, and I'm ent.i.tled to speak my mind to you. What you suffer from is nothing more nor less than sheer ignorance. Imperfect education; that's what the complaint is called.”
”Gertie!” A call from the shop.
”Yes, aunt.”
”Do come here just a moment. Here's the strangest coincidence I ever came across.” Gertie obeyed with signs of nervousness. ”This young gentleman tells me that he knows Ewelme, and he's actually been inside the house where I was born!”
”How do you do?” said Gertie.
”And he's going down there again shortly,” went on Mrs. Mills with animation, ”and he means to bring me back some roses from the garden.
Isn't it good of him?”
”Your daughter is fond of flowers?”
”She's only my niece,” explained Mrs. Mills volubly. ”Her mother kicked the bucket some years ago, and her father--What's Wallingford like now, sir? I've said over and over again that I'd one day take the Great Western to go and have a look and see what alterations had been made. But,” regretfully, ”it's never been anything more than talk.
I'd like Gertie to see the place though, so that she could tell whether it comes up to my description.”