Part 61 (2/2)

They heard a jingle in the pa.s.sage, the large soft impact of a servant's indoor boots. As if she were a part, a mitigatory part of Fate, came Gwendolen to lay the midday meal. Kipps displayed self-control forthwith. Ann picked up the bib again and bent over it, and the Kippses bore themselves gloomily perhaps, but not despairfully, while their dependant was in the room. She spread the cloth and put out the cutlery with a slow inaccuracy, and Kipps, after a whisper to himself, went again to the window. Ann got up and put away her work methodically in the cheffonier.

”When I think,” said Kipps, as soon as the door closed again behind Gwendolen, ”when I think of the 'ole people and 'aving to tell 'em of it all--I want to smesh my 'ead against the nearest wall. Smesh my silly brains out! And Buggins--Buggins what I'd 'arf promised to start in a lill' outfitting shop in Rendezvous Street.”...

Gwendolen returned and restored dignity.

The midday meal spread itself slowly before them. Gwendolen, after her custom, left the door open and Kipps closed it carefully before sitting down.

He stood for a moment, regarding the meal doubtfully.

”I don't feel as if I could swaller a moufful,” he said.

”You got to eat,” said Ann....

For a time they said little, and once swallowing was achieved, ate on with a sort of melancholy appet.i.te. Each was now busy thinking.

”After all,” said Kipps, presently, ”whatever 'appens, they can't turn us out or sell us up before nex' quarter-day. I'm pretty sure about that.”

”Sell us up!” said Ann.

”I dessey we're bankrup',” said Kipps, trying to say it easily and helping himself with a trembling hand to unnecessary potatoes.

Then a long silence. Ann ceased to eat, and there were silent tears.

”More potatoes, Artie?” choked Ann.

”I couldn't,” said Kipps. ”No.”

He pushed back his plate, which was indeed replete with potatoes, got up and walked about the room. Even the dinner-table looked distraught and unusual.

”What to do, I _don't_ know,” he said.

”Oh, _Lord_!” he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, and picked up and slapped down a book.

Then his eye fell upon another postcard that had come from Chitterlow by the morning's post, and which now lay by him on the mantel-shelf. He took it up, glanced at its imperfectly legible message, and put it down.

”Delayed!” he said, scornfully. ”Not prodooced in the smalls. Or is it smells 'e says? 'Ow can one understand that? Any'ow 'e's 'umbugging again.... Somefing about the Strand. No! Well, 'e's 'ad all the money 'e'll ever get out of me!... I'm done.”

He seemed to find a momentary relief in the dramatic effect of his announcement. He came near to a swagger of despair upon the hearthrug, and then suddenly came and sat down next to Ann and rested his chin on the knuckles of his two clenched hands.

”I been a fool, Ann,” he said in a gloomy monotone. ”I been a brasted fool. But it's 'ard on us, all the same. It's 'ard.”

”'Ow was you to know?” said Ann.

”I ought to 'ave known. I did in a sort of way know. And 'ere we are! I wouldn't care so much if it was myself, but it's _you_, Ann! 'Ere we are! Regular smashed up! And you----” He checked at an unspeakable aggravation of their disaster. ”I knew 'e wasn't to be depended upon and there I left it! And you got to pay.... What's to 'appen to us all, I don't know.”

He thrust out his chin and glared at fate.

”'Ow do you know 'e's speckylated everything?” said Ann, after a silent survey of him.

<script>