Part 58 (1/2)

Kipps gave vent to his dislike of young Wals.h.i.+ngham. ”He's getting too big for 'is britches,” he said. ”I'm beginning to wish she _'ad_ brought an action for breach. Ever since _'e_ said she wouldn't, 'e's seemed to think I've got no right to spend my own money.”

”'E's never liked your building the 'ouse,” said Ann.

Kipps displayed wrath. ”What the goodness 'as it got to do wiv' 'im?”

”Overman indeed!” he added. ”Overmantel!... 'E trys that on with me, I'll tell 'im something 'e won't like.”

He took up the second card. ”Dashed if I can read a word of it. I can jest make out Chit-low at the end and that's all.”

He scrutinised it. ”It's like someone in a fit writing. This here might be W H A T--_what_. P R I C E--_I_ got it! What price Harry now? It was a sort of saying of 'is. I expect 'e's either done something or not done something towards starting that play, Ann.”

”I expect that's about it,” said Ann.

Kipps grunted with effort. ”I can't read the rest,” he said at last, ”nohow.”

A thoroughly annoying post. He pitched the card on the table, stood up and went to the window, where Ann, after a momentary reconnaisance at Chitterlow's hieroglyphics, came to join him.

”Wonder what I shall do this afternoon,” said Kipps, with his hands deep in his pockets.

He produced and lit a cigarette.

”Go for a walk, I s'pose,” said Ann.

”I _been_ for a walk this morning.

”S'pose I must go for another,” he added, after an interval.

They regarded the windy waste of sea for a s.p.a.ce.

”Wonder why it is 'e won't see me,” said Kipps, returning to the problem of young Wals.h.i.+ngham. ”It's all lies about 'is being too busy.”

Ann offered no solution.

”Rain again!” said Kipps, as the lash of the little drops stung the window.

”Oo, bother!” said Kipps, ”you got to do something. Look 'ere, Ann! I'll go orf for a reg'lar tramp through the rain, up by Saltwood, 'round by Newington, over the camp, and so 'round and back, and see 'ow they're getting on about the 'ouse. See? And look 'ere! you get Gwendolen to go out a bit before I come back. If it's still rainy, she can easy go 'round and see 'er sister. Then we'll 'ave a bit of tea, with tea cake--all b.u.t.tery, see? Toce it ourselves, p'raps. Eh?”

”I dessay I can find something to do in the 'ouse,” said Ann, considering. ”You'll take your mackintosh and leggin's, I s'pose. You'll get wet without your mackintosh over those roads.”

”Righ-O,” said Kipps, and went to ask Gwendolen for his brown leggings and his other pair of boots.

--2

Things conspired to demoralise Kipps that afternoon.

When he got outside the house everything looked so wet under the drive of the southwester that he abandoned the prospect of the clay lanes towards Newington altogether, and turned east to Folkestone along the Seabrook digue. His mackintosh flapped about him, the rain stung his cheek; for a time he felt a hardy man. And then as abruptly the rain ceased and the wind fell, and before he was through Sandgate High Street it was a bright spring day. And there was Kipps in his mackintosh and squeaky leggings, looking like a fool!

Inertia carried him another mile to the Leas, and there the whole world was pretending there had never been such a thing as rain--ever. There wasn't a cloud in the sky; except for an occasional puddle the asphalt paths looked as dry as a bone. A smartly dressed man in one of those overcoats that look like ordinary cloth and are really most deceitfully and unfairly waterproof, pa.s.sed him and glanced at the stiff folds of his mackintosh. ”Demn!” said Kipps. His mackintosh swished against his leggings, his leggings piped and whistled over his boot-tops.

”Why do I never get anything right?” Kipps asked of a bright implacable universe.