Part 40 (2/2)
”Well, he happens to be good enough for me,” recommenced Miss Sellars.
”I'm sorry to hear a niece of mine say so,” interrupted Uncle Gutton.
”If you want my opinion of him--”
”If ever I do I'll call round some time when you're sober and ast you for it,” returned Miss Sellars. ”And as for being your niece, you was here when I came, and I don't see very well as how I could have got out of it. You needn't throw that in my teeth.”
The gust was dispersed by the practical remark of brother George to the effect that the last tram for Walworth left the Oval at eleven-thirty; to which he further added the suggestion that the Clapham Road was wide and well adapted to a row.
”There ain't going to be no rows,” replied Uncle Gutton, returning to amiability as suddenly as he had departed from it. ”We understand each other, don't we, my girl?”
”That's all right, uncle. I know what you mean,” returned Miss Sellars, with equal handsomeness.
”Bring him round again when he's feeling better,” added Uncle Gutton, ”and we'll have another look at him.”
”What you want,” advised the watery-eyed young man on shaking hands with me, ”is complete rest and a tombstone.”
I wished at the time I could have followed his prescription.
The maternal Sellars waddled after us into the pa.s.sage, which she completely blocked. She told me she was delight-ted to have met me, and that she was always at home on Sundays.
I said I would remember it, and thanked her warmly for a pleasant evening, at Miss Sellars' request calling her Ma.
Outside, Miss Sellars agreed that my presentiment had proved correct--that I had not shone to advantage. Our journey home on a tramcar was a somewhat silent proceeding. At the door of her room she forgave me, and kissed me good night. Had I been frank with her, I should have thanked her for that evening's experience. It had made my course plain to me.
The next day, which was Thursday, I wandered about the streets till two o'clock in the morning, when I slipped in quietly, pa.s.sing Miss Sellars'
door with my boots in my hand.
After Mr. Lott's departure on Friday, which, fortunately, was pay-day, I set my desk in order and confided to Minikin written instructions concerning all matters unfinished.
”I shall not be here to-morrow,” I told him. ”Going to follow your advice.”
”Found anything to do?” he asked.
”Not yet,” I answered.
”Suppose you can't get anything?”
”If the worst comes to the worst,” I replied, ”I can hang myself.”
”Well, you know the girl. Maybe you are right,” he agreed.
”Hope it won't throw much extra work on you,” I said.
”Well, I shan't be catching it if it does,” was his answer. ”That's all right.”
He walked with me to the ”Angel,” and there we parted.
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