Читать книгу The Remittance Man - Ambrose Pratt - Страница 11

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Jan marched out of the house in a mood that increased in bitterness with every step he took, for he quickly realised that he had destroyed his last chance of obtaining employment in that neighborhood, and he had been very earnest in the quest. Pride carried him through the outer door, chin in air, but he called himself a "fool" as he crossed the verandah, and an "idiot" before he had reached the steps. Ere he had half traversed the shrubbery all satisfaction in his petty triumph had evaporated.

He had begun to walk dejectedly, when, on turning an angle in the path, he perceived Jack and Marion standing by the gate. The encounter was unescapable, and it seemed to him that it provided the last straw needed to render his burden intolerable. But he reckoned without his host. Earlier in the morning before leaving his hut, he had stiffened the threadbare soles of his shoes with a piece of brown paper, but he had neglected to consider the forlorn condition of their heels. One of these now, at the worst possible moment, struck against an obstruction in the path, and before Marion's eyes, completely parted company with the sole.

Jan turned pale, then crimson, then pale again. He squared his shoulders, and strode forward, walking on his toes, his lips compressed and his eyes fixed on Marion's with an expression of passionate menace, as though defying her to notice his misfortune.

She met him with outstretched hand. "Good morning, Mr. Digby," she said brightly, "I do hope that you have taken no harm from your wetting?"

He gave her the shortest possible handshake.

"I need not repeat your question," he replied in tones of ice, "you look in perfect health."

"Did you fix up all right with dad?" demanded Jack.

"Yes—thank you. Good morning, Miss Reay; good morning, Jack." He swung off his hat, he had forgotten previously to bow, and passing through the gate without a glance at either, he strode off towards the town.

Jack, looking thunderstruck, was about to both call out and follow him, but Marion laid a swift hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Not now, Jack," she whispered earnestly. "Can't you see that he wants to be alone?"

"I'm blowed!" gasped the boy. "Something must have happened him—but what?"

"Perhaps father——" began Marion.

"Eh?" cried Jack. "Why—of course. But no! Jan said he had fixed up all right with dad."

"He did not say what," replied the girl. "Why not go to dad and ask him?"

Jack eyed her for a moment, then speaking no word, he set off at a swift run towards the house. Marion followed him, but more leisurely, and when she arrived at a certain spot she paused for some time looking at a curious unshapely object that lay upon the gravel. It was a shoe heel. On the verandah she came face to face with Jack returning from the the house. "Dad says Jan refused the billet," he exclaimed, "and went off in a huff."

"Why?" asked Marion.

"Because dad asked him some personal questions."

"Dad says he has a right to know all about his employees, and when I started to talk, he boxed my ears. He's in a dickens of a scot, I can tell you. My jaw is just burning."

"He treated you very properly," said Marion. "You are an impertinent boy to dare argue with your father!"

"I like your cheek," growled Jack. "You are a beautiful specimen, you are! Why, you never let him have an opinion that you don't like. You get him down and just worry him till he gives in."

"That is very different," said Marion with dignity. "I am a woman!"

Jack watched her "sail into the house," as he termed it, and then sat down upon the edge of the verandah to nurse his wounded face, in forlorn solitude.

"I'll be dashed glad to get back to school," he muttered miserably. "Dad's getting a regular pig—and as for Marion——" Apparently his vocabulary fell short of his requirements at that period, for after vainly seeking to express himself, be concluded with a raucous exclamation of disgust.