Part 12 (1/2)

”The end of it was,” ses Alf, ”that you and Mrs. Pearce was both very much upset, as o' course you couldn't marry while 'er fust was alive, and the last thing I see afore I woke up was her boxes standing at the front door waiting for a cab.”

George Hatchard was going to ask 'im more about it, but just then Mrs.

Pearce came in with a pair of Alf's socks that he 'ad been untidy enough to leave in the middle of the floor instead of chucking 'em under the bed. She was so unpleasant about it that, if it hadn't ha' been for the thought of wot was going to 'appen on Tuesday, Alf couldn't ha' stood it.

For the next day or two George Hatchard was in such a state of nervousness and excitement that Alf was afraid that the 'ousekeeper would notice it. On Tuesday morning he was trembling so much that she said he'd got a chill, and she told 'im to go to bed and she'd make 'im a nice hot mustard poultice. George was afraid to say ”no,” but while she was in the kitchen making the poultice he slipped out for a walk and cured 'is trembling with three whiskies. Alf nearly got the poultice instead, she was so angry.

She was unpleasant all dinner-time, but she got better in the arternoon, and when the Morgans came in the evening, and she found that Mrs. Morgan 'ad got a nasty sort o' red swelling on her nose, she got quite good-tempered. She talked about it nearly all supper-time, telling 'er what she ought to do to it, and about a friend of hers that 'ad one and 'ad to turn teetotaler on account of it.

”My nose is good enough for me,” ses Mrs. Morgan, at last.

”It don't affect 'er appet.i.te,” ses George Hat-chard, trying to make things pleasant, ”and that's the main thing.”

Mrs. Morgan got up to go, but arter George Hat-chard 'ad explained wot he didn't mean she sat down agin and began to talk to Mrs. Pearce about 'er dress and 'ow beautifully it was made. And she asked Mrs. Pearce to give 'er the pattern of it, because she should 'ave one like it herself when she was old enough. ”I do like to see people dressed suitable,” she ses, with a smile.

”I think you ought to 'ave a much deeper color than this,” ses Mrs.

Pearce, considering.

”Not when I'm faded,” ses Mrs. Morgan.

Mrs. Pearce, wot was filling 'er gla.s.s at the time, spilt a lot of beer all over the tablecloth, and she was so cross about it that she sat like a stone statue for pretty near ten minutes. By the time supper was finished people was pa.s.sing things to each other in whispers, and when a bit o' cheese went the wrong way with Joe Morgan he nearly suffocated 'imself for fear of making a noise.

They 'ad a game o' cards arter supper, counting twenty nuts as a penny, and everybody got more cheerful. They was all laughing and talking, and Joe Morgan was pretending to steal Mrs. Pearce's nuts, when George Hatchard held up his 'and.

”Somebody at the street door, I think,” he ses.

Young Alf got up to open it, and they 'eard a man's voice in the pa.s.sage asking whether Mrs. Pearce lived there, and the next moment Alf came into the room, followed by Bill Flurry.

”Here's a gentleman o' the name o' Smith asking arter you,” he ses, looking at Mrs. Pearce.

”Wot d'you want?” ses Mrs. Pearce rather sharp.

”It is 'er,” ses Bill, stroking his long white beard and casting 'is eyes up 'at the ceiling. ”You don't remember me, Mrs. Pearce, but I used to see you years ago, when you and poor Charlie Pearce was living down Poplar way.”

”Well, wot about it?” ses Mrs. Pearce.

”I'm coming to it,” ses Bill Flurry. ”I've been two months trying to find you, so there's no need to be in a hurry for a minute or two.

Besides, what I've got to say ought to be broke gently, in case you faint away with joy.”

”Rubbis.h.!.+” ses Mrs. Pearce. ”I ain't the fainting sort.”

”I 'ope it's nothing unpleasant,” ses George Hat-chard, pouring 'im out a gla.s.s of whisky.

”Quite the opposite,” ses Bill. ”It's the best news she's 'eard for fifteen years.”

”Are you going to tell me wot you want, or ain't you?” ses Mrs. Pearce.

”I'm coming to it,” ses Bill. ”Six months ago I was in Melbourne, and one day I was strolling about looking in at the shop-winders, when all at once I thought I see a face I knew. It was a good bit older than when I see it last, and the whiskers was gray, but I says to myself-”

”I can see wot's coming,” ses Mrs. Morgan, turning red with excitement and pinching Joe's arm.