Part 32 (1/2)
butivul as a child full o' milk goes to sleep; while he'll take a gert lord or dook, wi' lands an' moneys, an' strangle un by inches, an' give un the h.e.l.l of a twistin'. You caan't buy a easy death seemin'ly.”
”A gude husband he was, but jealous,” said Mrs. Coomstock, her thoughts busy among past years; and Billy immediately fell in with this view.
”Then you'm well rid of un. Theer's as gude in the world alive any minute as ever was afore or will be again.”
”Let 'em stop in the world then. I doan't want 'em.”
This sentiment amused the widow herself more than Billy. She laughed uproariously, raised her gla.s.s to her lips unconsciously, found it empty, grew instantly grave upon the discovery, set it down again, and sighed.
”It's a wicked world,” she said. ”Sure as men's in a plaace they brings trouble an' wickedness. An' yet I've heard theer's more women than men on the airth when all's said.”
”G.o.d A'mighty likes 'em best, I reckon,” declared Mr. Blee.
”Not but what 't would be a lonesome plaace wi'out the lords of creation,” conceded the widow.
”Ess fay, you 'm right theer; but the beauty of things is that none need n't be lonely, placed same as you be.”
”'Once bit twice shy,'” said Mrs. Coomstock. Then she laughed again. ”I said them very words to Lezzard not an hour since.”
”An' what might he have answered?” inquired Billy without, however, showing particular interest to know.
”He said he wasn't bit. His wife was a proper creature.”
”Bah! second-hand gudes--that's what Lezzard be--a widow-man an' eighty if a day. A poor, coffin-ripe auld blid, wi' wan leg in the graave any time this twenty year.”
Mrs. Coomstock's frame heaved at this tremendous criticism. She gurgled and gazed at Billy with her eyes watering and her mouth open.
”You say that! Eighty an' coffin-ripe!”
”Ban't no ontruth, neither. A man 's allus ready for his elm overcoat arter threescore an' ten. I heard the noise of his breathin' paarts when he had brown kitty in the fall three years ago, an' awnly thrawed it off thanks to the gracious gudeness of Miller Lyddon, who sent rich stock for soup by my hand. But to hear un, you might have thought theer was a wapsies' nest in the man's lungs.”
”I doan't want to be nuss to a chap at my time of life, in coourse.”
”No fay; 't is the man's paart to look arter his wife, if you ax me. I be a plain bachelor as never thought of a female serious 'fore I seed you. An' I've got a heart in me, tu. Ban't no auld, rubbishy, worn-out thing, neither, but a tough, love-tight heart--at least so 't was till I seed you in your weeds eight year agone.”
”Eight year a widow! An' so I have been. Well, Blee, you've got a powerful command of words, anyways. That I'll grant you.”
”'T is the gert subject, Mary.”
He moved nearer and put down his hat and stick; she exhibited trepidation, not wholly a.s.sumed. Then she helped herself to more spirits.
”A drop I must have to steady me. You men make a woman's heart go flutterin' all over her buzzom, like a flea under her--”
She stopped and laughed, then drank. Presently setting down the gla.s.s again, she leered in a manner frankly animal at Mr. Blee, and told him to say what he might have to say and be quick about it. He fired a little at this invitation, licked his lips, cleared his throat, and cast a nervous glance or two at the window. But n.o.body appeared; no thunder-visaged Lezzard frowned over the geraniums. Gaffer indeed was sound asleep, half a mile off, upon one of those seats set in the open air for the pleasure and convenience of wayfarers about the village. So Billy rose, crossed to the large sofa whereon Mrs. Coomstock sat, plumped down boldly beside her and endeavoured to get his arm round the wide central circ.u.mference of her person. She suffered this courageous attempt without objection. Then Billy gently squeezed her, and she wriggled and opened her mouth and shut her eyes.
”Say the word and do a wise thing,” he urged. ”Say the word, Mary, an'
think o' me here as master, a-keeping all your d.a.m.n relations off by word of command.”
She laughed.