Part 43 (1/2)
”That,” said Septimus, ”was very kind of you.”
”It was out of grat.i.tude.”
”For their goodness?”
”No. For being delivered from 'em. I had a lot of experience before I could learn the blessedness of a single life.”
Septimus sighed. ”Yet it must be very nice to have a wife, Wiggleswick.”
”But ain't yer got one?” bawled the disreputable body-servant.
”Of course, of course,” said Septimus hurriedly. ”I was thinking of the people who hadn't.”
Wiggleswick approached his master's bedside, with a mysteriously confidential air.
”Don't you think we're all cosy and comfortable here, sir?”
”Yes,” said Septimus dubiously.
”Well, I for one have nothing to complain of. The vittles is good, and one sleeps warm, and one has one's beer and 'baccy regular. What more does a man want? Not women. Women's a regrettable hincident.”
”Aren't you cold standing there in your s.h.i.+rt sleeves, Wiggleswick?” asked Septimus, in his hesitating way.
Wiggleswick ignored the delicacy of the suggestion.
”Cold? No. If I was cold, I'd precious soon make myself warm. Which I wish to remark, Mr. Dix, that now you've parted with the missus pro tem., don't you think it's more cosy and comfortable? I don't say but if she came here I'd do my best willingly. I know my duty. But, sir, a woman, what with her dusting and cleaning, and was.h.i.+ng of herself in hot water, and putting flowers in mugs do upset things terrible. I've been married oftener than you. I know 'em. Don't you think we get on better, the two of us, as we are?”
”We get on very nicely,” said Septimus politely, ”but I'm afraid you'll have to do some cleaning and dusting to-day. I'm awfully sorry to trouble you. Mrs. Middlemist has returned to England, and may be down this afternoon.”
A look of dismay came over Wiggleswick's crafty, weather-beaten face.
”Well, I'm jiggered. I'm just jiggered,” said he.
”I'm delighted to hear it,” murmured Septimus. ”Bring me my shaving-water.”
”Are you going to get up?” asked Wiggleswick in a tone of disgusted incredulity.
”Yes.”
”Then you'll be wanting breakfast.”
”Oh, no,” said Septimus, with the wan smile that sometimes flickered over his features, ”afternoon tea will do--with some bacon and eggs and things.”
The old man went out grumbling, and Septimus turned to his letter. It was very kind of Emmy, he thought, to write to him so affectionately.
He spent the mild, autumn morning on the common consulting the ducks in the pond, and seeking inspiration from the lame donkey, his state of mind being still complicated. The more he reflected on Emmy's letter and on Wiggleswick's views on women the less did he agree with Wiggleswick. He missed Emmy, who had treated him very tenderly since their talk in the moonlight at Hottetot-sur-Mer; and he missed the boy who, in the later days in Paris, after her return, had conceived an infantile infatuation for him, and would cease crying or go to sleep peacefully if only he could gather a clump of Septimus's hair in his tiny fingers. He missed a thousand gossamer trifles--each one so imperceptible, all added together so significant. He was not in the least cosy and comfortable with his old villain of a serving-man.
Thus he looked forward, in his twilight way, to Emmy's coming. He would live, perhaps, sometimes in Nunsmere and sometimes in London. Quite lately, on visiting his bankers, in order to make arrangements for the disposal of his income, he was surprised to find how rich he was; and the manager, an astoundingly well-informed person, explained that a commercial concern in which he held many shares had reached such a pitch of prosperity as to treble his dividends. He went away with the vague notion that commercial companies were models of altruistic generosity. The main point, however, made clear by the exceptionally intelligent manager, being that he was richer by several hundreds a year, he began to dream of a more resplendent residence for Emmy and the boy than the little flat in Chelsea. He had observed that there were very nice houses in Berkeley Square. He wondered how much a year they were, with rates and taxes. For himself, he could perch in any attic close by. He resolved to discuss Berkeley Square with Emmy as soon as she arrived. William Octavius Oldrieve Dix, Member of Parliament, ought to start life in proper surroundings.
Clem Sypher, down for the week-end at Penton Court, burst in upon him during the afternoon. He came with exciting news. The high official in the Ordnance Department of the War Office had written to him that morning to the effect that he was so greatly impressed by the new quick-firing gun that he proposed to experiment forthwith, and desired to be put into communication with the inventor.