Part 136 (1/2)
”Thanks. Change, please. I can't see very well--will you count it into my hand?”
”If they all took their pa.s.sages like that instead of talking about their trunks, life would be worth something,” said the clerk to his neighbour, who was trying to explain to a hara.s.sed mother of many that condensed milk is just as good for babes at sea as daily dairy. Being nineteen and unmarried, he spoke with conviction.
”We are now,” quoth d.i.c.k, as they returned to the studio, patting the place where his money-belt covered ticket and money, ”beyond the reach of man, or devil, or woman--which is much more important. I've had three little affairs to carry through before Thursday, but I needn't ask you to help, Bess. Come here on Thursday morning at nine. We'll breakfast, and you shall take me down to Galleons Station.”
”What are you going to do?”
”Going away, of course. What should I stay for?”
”But you can't look after yourself?”
”I can do anything. I didn't realise it before, but I can. I've done a great deal already. Resolution shall be treated to one kiss if Bessie doesn't object.” Strangely enough, Bessie objected and d.i.c.k laughed.
”I suppose you're right. Well, come at nine the day after tomorrow and you'll get your money.”
”Shall I sure?”
”I don't bilk, and you won't know whether I do or not unless you come.
Oh, but it's long and long to wait! Good-bye, Bessie,--send Beeton here as you go out.”
The housekeeper came.
”What are all the fittings of my rooms worth?” said d.i.c.k, imperiously.
”'Tisn't for me to say, sir. Some things is very pretty and some is wore out dreadful.”
”I'm insured for two hundred and seventy.”
”Insurance policies is no criterion, though I don't say----”
”Oh, d.a.m.n your longwindedness! You've made your pickings out of me and the other tenants. Why, you talked of retiring and buying a public-house the other day. Give a straight answer to a straight question.”
”Fifty,” said Mr. Beeton, without a moment's hesitation.
”Double it; or I'll break up half my sticks and burn the rest.”
He felt his way to a bookstand that supported a pile of sketch-books, and wrenched out one of the mahogany pillars.
”That's sinful, sir,” said the housekeeper, alarmed.
”It's my own. One hundred or----”
”One hundred it is. It'll cost me three and six to get that there pilaster mended.”
”I thought so. What an out and out swindler you must have been to spring that price at once!”
”I hope I've done nothing to dissatisfy any of the tenants, least of all you, sir.”
”Never mind that. Get me the money tomorrow, and see that all my clothes are packed in the little brown bullock-trunk. I'm going.”
”But the quarter's notice?”