Part 24 (1/2)

”Oh, yes,” the colonel said. ”Egg-nog. Anne makes it. Very good.”

”See here,” said Jeff, ”don't you want to get up and slip your clothes on, and I'll forage round and fish out cold hash or something, and we'll have a kind of a mild spree?”

A slow smile lighted the colonel's face, rather grimly.

He admired the ease with which Jeff grasped the situation.

”Don't you start them out cooking,” he advised.

”No, I'll find a ham-bone or something. Only slip into your trousers.

Get your shoes on your feet. We'll smoke a pipe together.”

”You're right,” said the colonel, with vigour. ”We'll put on our shoes.”

Jeff, on his way to the door, heard him throwing off the bedclothes. His own was the harder part. He had to meet the tired, sweet servitors without and announce a man's fiat. There they were, Lydia still in her patient att.i.tude, and Anne on the landing, her head thrown back and the pure outline of her chin and throat like beauty carved in the air. At the opening of the door they were awake with an instant alertness.

Lydia's feet came noiselessly to the floor, and Jeff understood, with a pang of pity for her, that she had perched uncomfortably to keep herself awake. This soft creature would never understand. He addressed himself to Anne, who believed in the impeccable rights of man and could take uncomprehended ways for granted.

”He's going to get up.”

Anne made a movement toward the door.

”No,” said Jeffrey. He was there before her, and, though he smiled at her, she knew she was not to pa.s.s. ”I'll see to him. You two run off to bed.”

They were both regarding him with a pale, anxious questioning. But Anne's look cleared.

”Come, Lydia,” said she, and as Lydia, cramped with sleep, trudged after her, she added wisely, ”It'll be better for them both.”

When they were gone, Jeffrey did go down to the kitchen, rigid in the order Mary Nellen always left. He entered boldly on a campaign of ruthless ravaging, found bread and cheese and set them out, and a roast most attractive to the eye. He lighted candles, and then a lamp with a gay piece of red flannel in its gla.s.s body, put there by Mary Nellen, who, though on Homeric knowledge bent, kept religiously all the ritual of home. The colonel's slippered step was coming down the stairs.

Jeffrey went out into the hall and beckoned. He looked stealth and mischief, and the colonel grimaced wisely at him. They went into the kitchen and sat down to their meal like criminals. The colonel had to eat, in vying admiration of Jeff, ravenous from his day's walk. When they drew back, Jeff pulled out his pipe. He was not an incessant smoker, but in this first interval of his homecoming all small indulgences were sweet. He paused in filling, finger on the weed.

”Where's yours?” he asked.

The colonel shook his head.

”Don't smoke?” Jeff inquired.

”I haven't for a year or so.” He was shamefaced over it. ”The fact is--Jeff, I'm nothing but a malingerer. I thought--my heart--”

”Very wise,” said Jeffrey, his eyes half-closed in a luxurious lighting up. ”Very wise indeed. But just to-night--don't you think you'd better have a whiff to-night?” The colonel shook his head, but Jeff sent out an advance signal of blue smoke. ”Where is it?” said he.

”Oh, I suppose it's in my bureau drawer,” said the colonel, with impatience. ”Left hand. I kept it; I don't know why.”

”Yes,” said Jeffrey. ”Of course you kept your pipe.”

He ran softly upstairs, opening and shutting doors with an admirable quiet, and put his hand on the old briarwood. From Anne's room he heard a low crooning. She was awake then, but with mind at ease or she wouldn't sing like that. He could imagine how Lydia had dropped off to sleep, like a burden of sweet fragrances cast on the bosom of the night, an unfinished prayer babbled on her lips. But to think of Lydia now was to look trouble in the face, and he returned to his father not so thoroughly in the spirit of a specious gaiety. It did him good, though, to see the colonel's fingers close on the old pipe, with a motion of the thumb, indicating a resumed habit, caressing a smooth, warm boss. The colonel soberly but luxuriously lighted up, and they sat and puffed a while in silence. Jeffrey drew up a chair for his father's feet and another for his own.

”What's your idea,” he said,' at length, ”of Weedon Moore?”