Part 133 (2/2)

”There's nothing to be got of interfering with him, Liza,” he said.

”Alf, you go along into the street to play. When he isn't crossed he's as kindly as kind, but when he's crossed he's the devil and all. We took too many little things out of his rooms since he was blind to be that particular about what he does. They ain't no objects to a blind man, of course, but if it was to come into court we'd get the sack. Yes, I did introduce him to that girl because I'm a feelin' man myself.”

”Much too feelin'!” Mrs. Beeton slapped the m.u.f.fins into the dish, and thought of comely housemaids long since dismissed on suspicion.

”I ain't ashamed of it, and it isn't for us to judge him hard so long as he pays quiet and regular as he do. I know how to manage young gentlemen, you know how to cook for them, and what I says is, let each stick to his own business and then there won't be any trouble. Take them m.u.f.fins down, Liza, and be sure you have no words with that young woman.

His lot is cruel hard, and if he's crossed he do swear worse than any one I've ever served.”

”That's a little better,” said Bessie, sitting down to the tea. ”You needn't wait, thank you, Mrs. Beeton.”

”I had no intention of doing such, I do a.s.sure you.”

Bessie made no answer whatever. This, she knew, was the way in which real ladies routed their foes, and when one is a barmaid at a first-cla.s.s public-house one may become a real lady at ten minutes'

notice.

Her eyes fell on d.i.c.k opposite her and she was both shocked and displeased. There were droppings of food all down the front of his coat; the mouth under the ragged ill-grown beard drooped sullenly; the forehead was lined and contracted; and on the lean temples the hair was a dusty indeterminate colour that might or might not have been called gray. The utter misery and self-abandonment of the man appealed to her, and at the bottom of her heart lay the wicked feeling that he was humbled and brought low who had once humbled her.

”Oh! it is good to hear you moving about,” said d.i.c.k, rubbing his hands.

”Tell us all about your bar successes, Bessie, and the way you live now.”

”Never mind that. I'm quite respectable, as you'd see by looking at me.

You don't seem to live too well. What made you go blind that sudden? Why isn't there any one to look after you?”

d.i.c.k was too thankful for the sound of her voice to resent the tone of it.

”I was cut across the head a long time ago, and that ruined my eyes. I don't suppose anybody thinks it worth while to look after me any more.

Why should they?--and Mr. Beeton really does everything I want.”

”Don't you know any gentlemen and ladies, then, while you was--well?”

”A few, but I don't care to have them looking at me.”

”I suppose that's why you've growed a beard. Take it off, it don't become you.”

”Good gracious, child, do you imagine that I think of what becomes of me these days?”

”You ought. Get that taken off before I come here again. I suppose I can come, can't I?”

”I'd be only too grateful if you did. I don't think I treated you very well in the old days. I used to make you angry.”

”Very angry, you did.”

”I'm sorry for it, then. Come and see me when you can and as often as you can. G.o.d knows, there isn't a soul in the world to take that trouble except you and Mr. Beeton.”

”A lot of trouble he's taking and she too.” This with a toss of the head.

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