Part 8 (1/2)
Ingpen answered pleasantly.
”I take your word for it; but I don't see.”
The bicycle was carefully bestowed by its groping owner in a small rustic arbour which, situated almost under the wall that divided the Clayhanger property from the first cottage in Hulton Street, was hidden from the house by a clump of bushes.
In the dark privacy of this shelter Tertius Ingpen said in a reflective tone:
”I understand that you haven't been married long, and that this is a sort of function to inform the world officially that you're no longer what you were?”
”It's something like that?” Edwin admitted with a laugh.
He liked the quiet intimacy of Ingpen's voice, whose delicate inflections indicated highly cultivated sensibilities. And he thought: ”I believe I shall be friends with this chap.” And was glad, and faith in Ingpen was planted in his heart.
”Well,” Ingpen continued, ”I wish you happiness. It may seem a strange thing to say to a man in your position, but my opinion is that the proper place for women is--behind the veil. Only my personal opinion, of course! But I'm ent.i.tled to hold it, and therefore to express it.”
Whatever his matter, his manner was faultless.
”Yes?” Edwin murmured awkwardly. What on earth did Ingpen expect by way of reply to such a proposition? Surely Ingpen should have known that he was putting his host in a disagreeable difficulty. His new-born faith in Ingpen felt the harsh wind of experience and s.h.i.+vered. Nevertheless, there was a part of Edwin that responded to Ingpen's att.i.tude. ”Behind the veil.” Yes, something could be said for the proposition.
They left the arbour in silence. They had not gone more than a few steps when a boy's shrill voice made itself heard over the wall of the cottage yard.
”Oh Lord, thou 'ast said 'If two on ye sh'll agray on earth as touching onything that they sh'll ask it sh'll be done for them of my Father which is in 'eaven. For where two or three are gathered together i' my name theer am I in th' midst of 'em. Oh Lord, George Edwin Clay'anger wants a two-bladed penknife. We all three on us want ye to send George Edwin Clay'anger a two-bladed penknife.”
The words fell with impressive effect on the men in the garden.
”What the--” Edwin exclaimed.
”Hs.h.!.+” Ingpen stopped him in an excited whisper. ”Don't disturb them for anything in the world!”
Silence followed.
Edwin crept away like a scout towards a swing which he had arranged for his friend George before he became the husband of George's mother. He climbed into it and over the wall could just see three boys' heads in the yard illuminated by a lamp in the back-window of the cottage.
Tertius Ingpen joined him, but immediately climbed higher on to the horizontal beam of the swing.
”Who are they?” Ingpen asked, restraining his joy in the adventure.
”The one on the right's my stepson. The other big one is my sister Clara's child, Bert. I expect the little one's old Clowes', the gravedigger's kid. They say he's a regular little parson--probably to make up for his parents. I expect they're out somewhere having a jollification.”
”Well,” Ingpen breathed. ”I wouldn't have missed this for a good deal.”
He gave a deep, almost soundless giggle.
Edwin was startled--as much as anything by the extraordinary deceitfulness of George. Who could possibly have guessed from the boy's demeanour when his Aunt Clara mentioned Bert to him, that he had made an outrageous rendezvous with Bert that very night? Certainly he had blushed, but then he often blushed. Of course, the Benbows would a.s.sert that George had seduced the guileless Bert. Fancy them hunting the town for Bert at that instant! As regards Peter Clowes, George, though not positively forbidden to do so, had been warned against a.s.sociating with him--chiefly because of the bad influence which Peter's accent would have on George's accent. His mother had said that she could not understand how George could wish to be friendly with a rough little boy like Peter. Edwin, however, inexperienced as he was, had already comprehended that children, like Eastern women, have no natural cla.s.s bias; and he could not persuade himself to be the first to inculcate into George ideas which could only be called sn.o.bbish. He was a democrat. Nevertheless he did not like George to play with Peter Clowes.
The small Peter, with uplifted face and clasped hands, repeated urgently, pa.s.sionately:
”O G.o.d! We all three on us want ye to send George Edwin Clay'anger a two-bladed penknife. Now lads, kneel, and all three on us together!”
He stood between the taller and better-dressed boys unashamed, fervent, a born religionist. He was not even praying for himself. He was praying out of his profound impersonal interest in the efficacy of prayer.