Part 42 (1/2)

”You are young to the work, Mr. Parker. You may depend upon it--you may take it from me--that Spendilove's will not fail in straight talking, on either side of the question. But we must observe what our Gallic neighbours term _les convenances_. By the way, has Makins gone off for the holidays?”

”He was to have gone off last night, sir; but he turned up this morning to write Sam Collins's 'Tory Squire' column for the _Northern Guardian_, and a syndicate-middle on 'Christmas Cheer in the Good Old Times.'

Collins sent him a wire late last night; his wife is down with pneumonia.”

”Tut, tut--send him to me. A good-hearted fellow, Makins! Tell him I've a dozen old articles that will fix him up with 'Christmas Cheer' in less than twenty minutes. I keep them indexed. And if he wants it ill.u.s.trated I can look him out a dozen blocks to take his choice from--'Bringing in the Boar's Head,' and that sort of thing.”

”I beg your pardon, sir, but before I send him there's a party of four in the lower office waiting to see you--one of them a child--and seafaring folk by their talk. They walked in while I was sitting alone there, finis.h.i.+ng off my article, and not a word would they tell of their business but that they must speak to you in private. It's my belief they've come straight off a wreck, and with a paragraph at least.”

”Seafaring folk, do you say?” It was a cherished hope of Mr. Joshua Benny's that one of these days Spendilove's would attract private information to its door, and not confine itself to decorating so much of the world's news as had already become common property.

”They asked for you, sir, as 'Mr. Joshua Benny, the great writer.'”

”Dear me, I hope you have not kept them waiting long? Show them up, please; and--here, wait a moment--on your way you can take Makins an armful of my commonplace books--eighteen sixty-three to seven; that will do. Tell him to look through the indexes himself; he'll find what he wants under 'Yule.'”

If Mr. Joshua's visitors had come, as Mr. Parker surmised, straight off a wreck, the first to file into his office had a.s.suredly salved from calamity a wonderful headgear. This was Mrs. Purchase, in a bonnet crowned with a bunch of gla.s.s grapes; and by the hand she led Myra, who carried one arm in a sling. The child's features were pinched and pale, and her eyes unnaturally bright. Behind followed Mr. Purchase and Tom Trevarthen, holding their caps, and looking around uneasily for a mat to wipe their shoes on.

No such shyness troubled Mrs. Purchase. ”Good-morning!” she began briskly, holding out a hand.

Mr. Joshua took it helplessly, his eyes for the moment riveted on her bonnet. It bore no traces of exposure to sea-water, and he transferred his scrutiny to the child.

”You don't remember me,” pursued Mrs. Purchase cheerfully. ”But I'd have picked you out from a thousand, though I han't seen you since you was _so_ high.” She spread out a palm some three feet or less from the floor.

”I'm Hannah Purchase, that used to be Hannah Rosewarne, daughter of John Rosewarne of Hall. You know now who I be, I reckon; and this here's my niece, and that there's my husband. The young man in the doorway ain't no relation; but he comes from Hall too. He's Sal Trevarthen's son.

You remember Sal Trevarthen?”

”Ah, yes--yes, to be sure. Delighted to see you, madam--delighted,”

stammered Mr. Joshua, who, however, as yet showed signs only of bewilderment. ”And you wish to see me?”--

”Wish to see you? Man alive, we've been hunting all Fleet Street for you!

Talk about rabbit warrens! Well, when 'tis over 'tis over, as Joan said by her wedding, and here we be at last.”

She paused and looked around.

”Place wants dusting,” she observed. ”Never married, did 'ee? I reckoned I'd never heard of your marrying. Your brother now has eleven of 'em-- children, I mean; and yet you feature him wonderful, though fuller in the face. But the Lord's ways be past finding out.”

”Amen,” said her husband, paying his customary tribute to a scriptural quotation, and added, ”They don't keep over many chairs in this office.”

He addressed this observation to Tom Trevarthen with an impartial air as one announcing a scientific discovery.

”Thank you,” said Mrs. Purchase, seating herself in a chair which Mr.

Joshua made haste to provide. ”You will oblige me by paying no attention to 'Siah. Well, as I was saying, it's a mercy the Lord has made you the man you be; for we're in want of your help, all four of us.”

”If I can be of service,”--Mr. Joshua murmured.

”I remember,” said Mrs. Purchase, arranging her bonnet with an air of one coming to business, ”when I was a little girl, reading in a history book about a man called Bucket, who fell in love with a black woman in foreign parts; or she may have been brown or whitey-brown for all I can remember at this distance of time. But, anyway, he was parted from her, and came home to London here, and all she knew about him was his name 'Bucket.'

Well, she took s.h.i.+p and kept on saying 'Bucket' till somewhere in London she found him. And if that happened once, it ought to be able to happen again, especially in these days of newspapers, and when we've got the address.”

Mrs. Purchase produced a crumpled slip of paper, and handed it to Mr.

Joshua, who adjusted his spectacles.

”An inst.i.tution for the blind, and near Bexley, apparently.”