Part 13 (2/2)
The boy had got into a facetious way of calling Mrs Willis by any term of endearment that suggested itself at the moment, which would have been highly improper and disrespectful if it had not been the outflow of pure affection.
The crack in the door was not large enough to permit of my seeing Mrs Willis herself as she sat in her accustomed window with the spout-and-chimney-pot view. I could only see the withered old hand held tremblingly out for the smoking cup of tea, which the boy handed to her with a benignant smile, and I could hear the soft voice say--”Thank you, Robin--dear boy--so like!”
”I tell you what it is, granny,” returned Slidder, with a frown, ”I'll give you up an' 'and you over to the p'leece if you go on comparin' me to other people in that way.--Now, then, 'ave some m.u.f.fins. They're all 'ot and soaked in b.u.t.ter, old Gummy, just the wery thing for your teeth.
Fire away, now! Wot's the use o' me an' Dr McTougall fetchin' you nice things if you won't eat 'em?”
”But I _will_ eat 'em, Robin, thankfully.”
”That ain't the way, old 'ooman,” returned the boy, helping himself largely to the viands which he so freely dispensed; ”it's not thankfully, but heartily, you ought to eat 'em.”
”Both, Robin, both.”
”Not at all, granny. We asked a blessin' fust, now, didn't we? Vell, then, wot we've to do next is to go in and win heartily. Arter that it's time enough to be thankful.”
”What a boy it is!” responded Mrs Willis.
I saw the withered old hand disappear with a m.u.f.fin in it in the direction of the old mouth, and at this point I entered.
”The wery man I wanted to see,” exclaimed Slidder, jumping up with what I thought unusual animation, even for him.
”Come along, doctor, just in time for grub. Mrs W hain't eat up all the m.u.f.fins yet. Fresh cup an' saucer; clean plate; ditto knife; no need for a fork; now then, sit down.”
Accepting this hearty invitation, I was soon busy with a m.u.f.fin, while Mrs Willis gave a slow, elaborate, and graphic account of the sayings and doings of Master Slidder, which account, I need hardly say, was much in his favour, and I am bound to add that he listened to it with pleased solemnity.
”Now then, old flatterer, w'en you've quite done, p'raps you'll tell the doctor that I wants a veek's leave of absence, an' then, p'raps you'll listen to what him an' me's got to say on that p'int. Just keep a stuffin' of yourself with m.u.f.fins, an' don't speak.”
The old lady nodded pleasantly, and began to eat with apparently renewed appet.i.te, while I turned in some surprise.
”A week's leave of absence?” said I.
”Just so--a veek's leave of absence--furlow if you prefers to call it so. The truth is, I wants a 'oliday wery bad. Granny says so, an' I thinks she's right. D'you think my const.i.tootion's made o' bra.s.s, or cast-iron, or bell-metal, that I should be able to york on an' on for ever, black, black, blackin' boots an' shoes, without a 'oliday? W'y, lawyers, merchants, bankers--even doctors--needs a 'oliday now an' then; 'ow much more s...o...b..acks!”
”Well,” said I, with a laugh, ”there is no reason why s...o...b..acks should not require and desire a holiday as much as other people, only it's unusual--because they cannot afford it, I suppose.”
”Ah! `that's just w'ere the shoe pinches'--as a old gen'leman shouted to me t'other day, with a whack of his umbreller, w'en I scrubbed 'is corns too hard. `Right you are, old stumps,' says I, `but you'll have to pay tuppence farden hextra for that there whack, or be took up for a.s.sault an' battery.' D'you know that gen'leman larfed, he did, like a 'iaena, an' paid the tuppence down like a man. I let 'im off the farden in consideration that he 'adn't got one, an' I had no change.--Vell, to return to the p'int--vich was wot the old toper remarked to his wife every night--I've bin savin' up of late.”
”Saving up, have you?”
”Yes, them penny banks 'as done it. W'y, it ain't a wirtue to be savin'
now-a-days, or good, or that sort o' thing. What between city missionaries, an' Sunday-schools, an' penny banks, an cheap wittles, and grannies like this here old sneezer, it's hardly possible for a young feller to go wrong, even if he was to try. Yes, I've bin an' saved enough to give me a veek's 'oliday, so I'm goin' to 'ave my 'oliday in the north. My 'ealth requires it.”
Saying this, young Slidder began to eat another m.u.f.fin with a degree of zest that seemed to give the lie direct to his a.s.sertion, so that I could not refrain from observing that he did not seem to be particularly ill.
”Ain't I though?” he remarked, elongating his round rosy face as much as possible. ”That's 'cause you judge too much by appearances. It ain't my body that's wrong--it's my spirit. That's wot's the matter with _me_. If you only saw the inside o' my mind you'd be astonished.”
”I thoroughly believe you,” said I, laughing. ”And do you really advise him to go, granny?”
”Yes, my dear, I do,” replied Mrs Willis, in her sweet, though feeble tones. ”You've no idea how he's been slaving and working about me. I have strongly advised him to go, and, you know, good Mrs Jones will take his place. She's as kind to me as a daughter.”
<script>