Part 36 (2/2)

Hester heard the words, and in spite of nervousness was glad that she had chosen to be brave.

The inner office contained a desk, a stool, and a deal chair. These, with a swinging lamp, a shelf of books, and a Band of Hope Almanack, completed its furniture. Indeed, it had room for no more, and its narrow dimensions were dwarfed just now by an enormous black-bearded seaman seated in the chair by the window, which stood open to the darkness. Although the month was December, the wind blew softly from the southwest, and night had closed in with a fine warm drizzle of rain. Beyond the window the riding-lights of the vessels at anchor shone across the gently heaving tide.

The black-bearded seaman made a motion to rise, but realising that this would seriously displace the furniture, contented himself with a 'Good-evening, miss,' and dropped back in his seat.

”Good-evening,” answered Hester. ”Mr. Benny here has asked me to take his place. I hope you don't mind?”

”Lord bless you, I like it.”

”But I shall make a poor hand of it, I'm afraid.”

The man eyed her solemnly for five or six seconds, slowly turned the quid of tobacco in his cheek, and spat out of window. ”We'll get along famous,” he said.

”He likes the window open,” explained Mr. Benny, ”because--”

”I see.” Hester nodded.

”But I'll run and fetch a cloak for you.” Without waiting for an answer, Mr. Benny hurried from the office.

To be deserted thus was more than Hester had bargained for, and for a moment she felt helplessly dismayed. A sheet of paper, half-covered with writing, lay on the desk, and she put out a hand for it.

”Is this your letter? Perhaps you'll allow me to read it and see how far you and Mr. Benny have gone.”

”That's the way. Only you mustn' give me no credit for it: I sits and looks on. 'Never take a hand in a business you don't know'--that's my motto.”

Hester wished devoutly that it had also been hers. She picked up the paper and read--

”Dear Wife,--This comes hoping to find you in health as it leaves me at present, and the children hearty. We made a good pa.s.sage, and arrived at Troy on the 14th inst., a romantic little harbour picturesquely situated on the south coast of Cornwall.

Once a flouris.h.i.+ng port, second only to London and Bristol, and still retaining in its ivy-clad fort some vestiges of its former glories, it requires the eye of imagination to summon back the days when (as Hals tells us) it manned and sent forth more than forty s.h.i.+ps to the siege of Calais, A.D. 1347--”

Hester glanced at her client dubiously.

”That's all right, ain't it?” he asked.

”Ye--es.”

”Far as I remember, it tallies with the last letter he fixed up for me.

Something about 'grey old walls' there was, too.”

”Yes, that comes two sentences below--

”Confronted with these evidences of decay, the visitor instinctively exclaims to himself, 'If these grey old walls could speak, what a tale might they not unfold!'--”

”So he've put that in again? There's what you might call a sameness about Benny, though he _do_ write different to anybody else.”

”And here are more dates, and an epitaph from one of the tombstones in the churchyard! Indeed, Mr.”--

”Salt. Tobias Salt--_and_ by natur'.”

”Indeed, Mr. Salt, I can't write a letter like this. To begin with, I haven't the knowledge.”

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