Part 34 (2/2)

The philanthropist was chilled; he fixed his eyes in a stony stare on the opposite wall. Mr. Kybird, who had ever a wholesome dread of falling a victim to his friend's cuteness, regarded him with some uncertainty, and reminded him of one or two pieces of information which had seriously depleted his till.

”Banns up yet for the wedding?” inquired Mr. Smith, still gazing in front of him with fathomless eyes.

”They'll be put up next week,” said Mr. Kybird.

”Ah!” said his friend, with great emphasis. ”Well, well!”

”Wot d'ye mean by 'well, well'?” demanded the other, with some heat.

”I was on'y thinking,” replied Mr. Smith, mildly. ”P'r'aps it's all for the best, and I'd better 'old my tongue. True love is better than money. After all it ain't my bisness, and I shouldn't get much out of it.”

”Out of wot, Nat?” inquired Mr. Kybird, uneasily.

Mr. Smith, still gazing musingly before him, appeared not to hear the question. ”Nice after the rain, ain't it?” he said, slowly.

”It's all right,” said the other, shortly.

”Everything smells so fresh and sweet,” continued his nature-loving friend; ”all the little d.i.c.key-birds was a-singing as if their little 'arts would break as I come along.”

”I don't wonder at it,” said the offended Mr. Kybird.

”And the banns go up next week,” murmured the boarding-master to himself. ”Well, well.”

”'Ave you got anything to say agin it?” demanded Mr. Kybird.

”Cert'nly not,” replied the other. ”On'y don't blame me when it's too late; that's all.”

Mr. Kybird, staring at him wrathfully, turned this dark saying over in his mind. ”Too late for wot?” he inquired.

”Ah!” said Nathan Smith, slowly. ”Nice and fresh after the rain, ain't it? As I come along all the little d.i.c.key-birds--”

”Drat the little d.i.c.key-birds,” interrupted Mr. Kybird, with sudden violence. ”If you've got anything to say, why don't you say it like a man?”

The parlour door opened suddenly before the other could reply, and revealed the face of Mrs. Kybird. ”Wot are you two a-quarrelling about?” she demanded. ”Why don't you come inside and sit down for a bit?”

Mr. Smith accepted the invitation, and following her into the room found Miss Kybird busy st.i.tching in the midst of a bewildering a.s.sortment of brown paper patterns and pieces of cloth. Mrs. Kybird gave him a chair, and, having overheard a portion of his conversation with her husband, made one or two casual inquiries.

”I've been spending a hour or two at Mr. Swann's,” said Mr. Smith.

”And 'ow is 'e?” inquired his hostess, with an appearance of amiable interest.

The boarding-master shook his head. ”'E's slipping 'is cable,” he said, slowly. ”'E's been making 'is will, and I was one o' the witnesses.”

Something in Mr. Smith's manner as he uttered this simple statement made his listeners anxious to hear more. Mr. Kybird, who had just entered the room and was standing with his back to the door holding the handle, regarded him expectantly.

”It's been worrying 'im some time,” pursued Mr. Smith. ”'E 'asn't got n.o.body belonging to 'im, and for a long time 'e couldn't think 'ow to leave it. Wot with 'ouse property and other things it's a matter of over ten thousand pounds.”

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