Part 37 (2/2)

”I'm not stuffing you, Sammy,” said Beth, suddenly flaming. ”I made it myself, every word of it. I tell you it came to me. It's my own.

_You've got to believe it._”

Sammy looked about him. There was no escape by the door, because that led into the house, and Beth was between him and the window, with her brown hair dishevelled, and her big eyes burning.

”Well,” he said, a politic desire to conciliate struggling with an imperative objection to be stuffed, ”of course you made it yourself if you say so. But it's all rot anyway.”

The words slipped out unawares, and the moment he uttered them he ducked his head: but nothing happened. Then he looked up at Beth, and found her gazing hard at him, and as she did so the colour gradually left her cheeks and the light went out of her eyes. Slowly she gathered up her papers and put them into the hole in the roof. Then she sat on one of the steps which led down into the room, but she said nothing.

Sammy sat still in a tremor until the silence became too oppressive to be borne; then he fidgeted, then he got up, and looked longingly towards the window.

”I shall be late,” he ventured.

Beth made no sign.

”When shall I see you again?” he recommenced, deprecatingly. ”Will you be at the back-gate to-morrow?”

”No,” she said shortly. ”It's too cold to wait for you.”

”Then how shall I see you?” he asked, with a blank expression.

Beth reflected. ”Oh, just whistle as you pa.s.s,” she said at last, in an offhand way, ”and I'll come out if I feel inclined.”

The next evening Mrs. Caldwell was taking her accustomed nap after dinner in her arm-chair by the fire in the dining-room, and Beth was sitting at the table dreaming, when she was suddenly startled by a long, loud, shrill whistle. Another and another of the most piercing quality followed in quick succession. Swiftly but cautiously she jumped up, and slipped into the drawing-room, which was all in darkness. There were outside shutters to the lower windows, but the drawing-room ones were not closed, so she looked out, and there was Sammy, standing with his innocent fat face as close to the dining-room shutters as he could hold it, with his fingers in his mouth, uttering shrill whistles loud and long and hard and fast enough to rouse the whole neighbourhood. Beth, impatient of such stupidity, returned to the dining-room and sat down again, leaving Sammy to his fate.

Presently Mrs. Caldwell started wide awake.

”What _is_ that noise, Beth?” she exclaimed.

”It seems to be somebody whistling outside,” Beth answered in deep disgust. Then her exasperation got the better of her self-control, and she jumped up, and ran out to the kitchen.

”Harriet,” she said between her clenched teeth, ”go out and send that silly fool away.”

Harriet hastened to obey; but at the opening of the front door, Sammy bolted.

The next evening he began again, however, as emphatically as before; but Beth could not stand such imbecility a second time, so she ran out of the back-gate, and seized Sammy.

”What are you doing there?” she cried, shaking him.

”Why, you told me to whistle,” Sammy remonstrated, much aggrieved.

”Did I tell you to whistle like a railway engine?” Beth demanded scornfully. ”You've no sense at all, Sammy. Go away!”

”Oh, do let's come in, Beth,” Sammy pleaded. ”I've something to tell you.”

”What is it?” said Beth ungraciously.

”I'll tell you if you'll let me come in.”

”Well, come then,” Beth answered impatiently, and led the way up over the roof to the acting-room. ”What is it?” she again demanded, when she had lighted a sc.r.a.p of candle and seated herself on the steps. ”I don't believe it's anything.”

<script>