Part 18 (2/2)
”You and the Lump. The Lump and the sea were made for one another. I look to see him an admiral one of these days. It is time that England had a red-headed admiral; I'm tired of these refined, drab-haired ones.
It is my patriotic duty to give him a taste for the sea early.”
”Oh, thank you, sir!” said Pollyooly in a tone of profound grat.i.tude.
”We will go to Pyechurch. There's an old family servant of ours who lets lodgings at Pyechurch. I made her life a burden to her when I was young; and consequently, with true womanliness, she has always entertained the strongest affection for me. It would be no use taking you to any other lodgings because you wouldn't be allowed to grill my bacon for me. But Mrs. Wilson knows that I must be humoured; and humoured I shall be. Also she will look after you while I am playing golf at Littlestone--not that I have ever known you to need looking after.”
”Oh, sir, it will be nice!” said Pollyooly, still somewhat breathless.
The Honourable John Ruffin smiled at her amiably.
”This morning we will pack; this afternoon we will go,” he said.
Pollyooly had to slip up to their attic at once to tell the Lump, who was playing there peacefully, the splendid news. He received it in placid silence; apparently it did not seem to him to be a matter on which he was called to comment either favourably or unfavourably.
Pollyooly moved about the world on very light, dancing feet; and as soon as she had washed up the breakfast things she packed their small wardrobes in the brown tin box. Then the Honourable John Ruffin, having finished his cigar and _Morning Post_, summoned her to help him pack.
For a while she observed his fas.h.i.+on of doing so with pain and dismay.
He put his clothes in the portmanteau anyhow and crushed them firmly down. Sometimes he stood on them, quietly.
Standing painfully now on one leg and now on the other, she endured the sight for several minutes; then she said:
”Oh please, sir: you'd better let me do it.”
”Why? What's wrong with my way of doing it?” said the Honourable John Ruffin, looking down at the confused mess with some surprise.
”Look how you're crumpling your s.h.i.+rts, sir,” said Pollyooly.
”I thought that that was what trunks and portmanteaux were for. But have it your own way. Deal with it yourself,” said the Honourable John Ruffin with airy indifference.
He lighted another cigar and watched Pollyooly take the clothes out of the portmanteau and replace them neatly with some regard to their shape and the s.p.a.ce to be filled, finding room for a dozen things which he had been forced to leave out. Then, when she had filled half the portmanteau, he said:
”Always fresh accomplishments, Mrs. Bride. If you go on at this rate, you will certainly go down to posterity as the Admirable Pollyooly.”
He sent down to the Inner Temple kitchen for his lunch; and Pollyooly gave the Lump his dinner. She ate little herself; she was too excited.
They drove, proudly, in a taxicab to Cannon Street Station; and they travelled, proudly, first-cla.s.s.
The Honourable John Ruffin had bought picture papers for the two children and a novel for himself, and now and again he paused in his reading to observe them. It was always a pleasure to a man of his aesthetic sensibility to gaze at Pollyooly's angel face in its frame of beautiful red hair and at that redder-headed but authentic cherub, the Lump. As they ran through London, curiously curled round the Lump, she was busy showing him the pictures in the papers and receiving his monosyllabic comments on them, with the ecstatic delight with which his disciples receive, or should receive, the pregnant utterances of a genius. When they came into the country she was busy pointing out to him, with an even more excited delight the common railside objects. It was more than a year since he had been in the country; and he had to be told earnestly and more than once that a cow was a cow and a sheep a baa-lamb, for he was inclined to cla.s.s them all alike under the genus gee-gee. When at last he did correctly hail a sheep as a baa-lamb, the triumphant pleasure of Pollyooly pa.s.sed all bounds.
The Honourable John Ruffin read and observed the children, and observed the children and read. But when they were nearing their journey's end, he shut up his book and said:
”I think it will be well for you to cease to be my housekeeper at Pyechurch, Mrs. Bride. People will ask you about our relations of course, because by the sea there is so much time for idle curiosity; and you had better tell them that you are a cousin of mine. That is nothing but the truth, for you are undoubtedly a red Deeping; and all the Deepings, red or neutral-tinted, are cousins, first, second, third, fourth, and so on, of mine.”
”Yes, sir,” said Pollyooly gravely.
”Also I think that you had better give yourself a few airs. You will have a better time that way, for airs procure you a welcome in the best circles. Be a red Deeping--not too truculent, you know, but firm.”
Pollyooly's eyes sparkled a little; and she said:
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