Part 85 (1/2)

Mrs Orgreave absently and in somewhat stiff silence handed over the pince-nez! She was now quite an old woman, small, shapeless, and delightfully easy-going, whose sense of humour had not developed with age. She could never see a joke which turned upon her relations with her grandchildren, and in fact the jocular members of the family had almost ceased to employ this subject of humour. She was undoubtedly rather foolish about her grandchildren--'fond,' as they say down there.

The parents of the grandchildren did not object to this foolishness-- that is, they only pretended to object. The task of preventing a pardonable weakness from degenerating into a tedious and mischievous mania fell solely upon Janet. Janet was ready to admit that the health of the grandchildren was a matter which could fairly be left to their fathers and mothers, and she stood pa.s.sive when Mrs Orgreave's grandmotherly indulgences seemed inimical to their health; but Mrs Orgreave was apt to endanger her own health in her devotion to the profession of grandmother--for example by sitting up to unchristian hours with a needle. Then there would be a struggle of wills, in which of course Mrs Orgreave, being the weaker, was defeated; though her belief survived that she and she alone, by watchfulness, advice, sagacity, and energy, kept her children's children out of the grave. On all other questions the harmony between Janet and her mother was complete, and Mrs Orgreave undoubtedly considered that no mother had ever had a daughter who combined so many virtues and charms.

TWO.

Mr Orgreave, forgetful of the company, was deciphering the ”British Medical Journal” in the twilight of the afternoon. His doctor had lent him this esoteric periodical because there was an article therein on influenza, and Mr Orgreave was very much interested in influenza.

”You remember the influenza of '89, Edwin?” he asked suddenly, looking over the top of the paper.

”Do I?” said Edwin. ”Yes, I fancy I do remember a sort of epidemic.”

”I should think so indeed!” Janet murmured.

”Well,” continued Mr Orgreave, ”I'm like you. I thought it was an epidemic. But it seems it wasn't. It was a pandemic. What's a pandemic, now?”

”Give it up,” said Edwin.

”You might just look in the dictionary--Ogilvie there,” and while Edwin ferreted in the bookcase, Mr Orgreave proceeded, reading: ”'The pandemic of 1889 has been followed by epidemics, and by endemic prevalence in some areas!' So you see how many demics there are! I suppose they'd call it an epidemic we've got in the town now.”

His voice had changed on the last sentence. He had meant to be a little facetious about the Greek words; but it was the slowly prepared and rather exasperating facetiousness of an ageing man, and he had dropped it listlessly, as though he himself had perceived this. Influenza had weakened and depressed him; he looked worn, and even outworn. But not influenza alone was responsible for his appearance. The incredible had happened: Osmond Orgreave was getting older. His bald head was not the worst sign of his declension, nor the thickened veins in his hands, nor the deliberation of his gestures, nor even the unsprightliness of his wit. The worst sign was that he was losing his terrific zest in life; his palate for the intense savour of it was dulled. In this last attack of influenza he had not fought against the onset of the disease. He had been wise; he had obeyed his doctor, and laid down his arms at once; and he showed no imprudent anxiety to resume them. Yes, a changed Osmond!

He was still one of the most industrious professional men in Bursley; but he worked from habit, not from pa.s.sion.

When Edwin had found 'pandemic' in Ogilvie, Mr Orgreave wanted to see the dictionary for himself, and then he wanted the Greek dictionary, which could not be discovered, and then he began to quote further from the ”British Medical Journal.”

”'It may be said that there are three well-marked types of the disease, attacking respectively the respiratory, the digestive, and the nervous system.' Well, I should say I'd had 'em all three. 'As a rule the attack--'”

Thus he went on. Janet made a moue at Edwin, who returned the signal.

These youngsters were united in good-natured forbearing condescension towards Mr Orgreave. The excellent old fellow was p.r.o.ne to be tedious; they would accept his tediousness, but they would not disguise from each other their perception of it.

”I hear the Vicar of Saint Peter's is very ill indeed,” said Mrs Orgreave, blandly interrupting her husband.

”What? Heve? With influenza?”

”Yes. I wouldn't tell you before because I thought it might pull you down again.”

Mr Orgreave, in silence, stared at the immense fire.

”What about this tea, Janet?” he demanded.

Janet rang the bell.

”Oh! I'd have done that!” said Edwin, as soon as she had done it.

THREE.

While Janet was pouring out the tea, Edwin restored Ogilvie to his place in the bookcase, feeling that he had had enough of Ogilvie.