Читать книгу Another Day - John Jeffery Farnol - Страница 5

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“And how do you like England, Mr. Dallas?”

“Fine!” he answered, stirring pertinaciously at his empty cup. “Great! A beautiful country and beautiful ... weather——”

“Another cup of tea, Mr. Dallas?”

“Thank you!”

“That’s three, Dal!” nodded the Small Person.

“Hush, Patience, I’m surprised at you——”

“But, Jodear, he drinks such an awful lot—gollops it down so triffic quick, an’ stares an’ stares at you as if——”

“Patience!”

“But he does, you know. Don’t you, Dal?”

“I ... I’m afraid I did,” he admitted, staring hard at his plate.

“Oh you needn’t be ’fraid, Dal, she’s uster being stared at, ’specially by Mr.——”

“Patience!”

“Oh, Jo, I do wish you’d call me ‘Honey’ like Dal does. An’ please I’d like some.”

“I’ve a great mind you should never taste honey again, Miss!”

“Then I ’specks if I died you’d grieve an’ grieve, an’ cry worser ’n you do when you haven’t ’nuff to pay——”

“Oh—here’s the honey!” cried Josepha, a little breathlessly. “And now for goodness’ sake—eat, child!”

“Well, I am so fast as I can, only I must talk a bit now an’ then——”

“But not all the time, my dear.”

“Well, then Jo, you talk an’ Dal an’ I’ll listen. Go on, please.” But instead of “going on,” Josepha, suddenly bereft of words, frowned, flushed, bit her lip, peeped into the tea-pot and busied herself with the hot-water jug while the Small Personage, demurely aloof, munched solemnly and glanced from her sister’s rosy loveliness to the abstracted Dallas who was carefully tracing out the pattern of the table-cloth with the handle of his tea-spoon; thus, having munched and nibbled daintily, sipped her tea delicately, the Small Person set down her cup softly and with extremest care, and spoke in hushed and awesome whisper:

“If you please, Josepha, may I speak one question?”

“Yes, dear, of course you may.”

“Then please, why are you so awful red—in the face, you know?” Josepha glanced at her small questioner speechlessly, glanced at Dallas and laughed:

“Did you ever——?” cried she.

“Never in my life!” he answered.

“An’ I’d like another piece of sugar, please!” sighed Patience.

The Goddess took up the sugar-tongs and pausing, sighed also:

“Mr. Dallas,” said she, “for heavens’ sake don’t notice my hands, they’re awful!”

“But quite clean, Jo!” nodded the Small Person consolingly.

“And—pretty!” Dallas added impulsively, and yet with such obvious sincerity that she smiled, though a little wistfully, and shook her head at the hands in question.

“Oh, they’re all right to work with,” said she, “but so coarse, so brown, two broken finger-nails—and getting frightfully horny. But then I’m my own labourer—Tom Merry comes to help me sometimes, but he can’t work for nothing and—well, money is money!”

“That’s so!” said Dallas, watching the graceful motions of those slim, brown hands with a new interest.

“An’ please I’m waiting for my sugar!” sighed Patience.

“What with my garden,” continued the Goddess, busied with the sugar-tongs, “and my bees, and chickens and ducks, I ought to do well enough but ... things have been rather frightful lately.”

“That’s the chickens, Dal!” explained the Small Person. “The more she does for them the less they lay! Chickens are great beasts—ours are, but old Mrs. Hubbles’ chickens go on laying and laying eggs all over the place.”

“Some day,” murmured the Goddess staring towards the open lattice, her beautiful eyes brim-full of dreamful yearning, “some day, I hope to afford a pig!”

“I—I beg pardon?” said Dallas starting.

“A pig!” she murmured. “There’s money in pigs.”

“And I ’dore them!” nodded Patience. “’Specially when they’re teeny an’ pink. Don’t you, Dal?”

“Sure thing, Honey.”

“There, Jo!” cried the Small Person flourishing her tea-spoon, “he said ‘Honey,’ an’ that’s a ’Merican love-name. An’ please I’d like a weeny bit more—jest a scrinch!”

“But,” demurred Josepha, helping her sister to more honey, yet viewing Dallas with her direct gaze, “are you really an American?”

“Well, I was born in li’l, old N’York, Miss Dare.”

“Then you aren’t my idea of an American.”

“Oh, now why not?”

“Well, you don’t drawl, or speak down your nose, or chew gum, and you haven’t said ‘Howdy stranger,’ or ‘Wal, I calklate’.”

“Wal, then, Miss Josepha mam,” said he, smiling but sighing also, “I calklate you’ll be reckoning it’s sure about time I beat it. But before I hike I—I’d like you to know I’m ... mighty grateful, indeed I sure am. It seems just wonderful to be sitting right here—so ... so very kind of you to ... to take me on trust like this. Why I might have been some rough-neck, a thug or even a——” He stopped suddenly, for his glance had lighted upon his own right hand ... ! Now staring upon these sinewy fingers he saw them (as it were) horribly stained and smeared as he had seen them in dreadful verity once before and, uttering a gasp, he clenched that hand, hiding it beneath the table.... But as he sat thus whelmed again in the awful shadow of past evil, he heard Josepha’s smooth, soft voice:

“No, Patience! Too much honey is bad for little girls.”

“But I’ll soon be as old as you, Jodear, only I’ll have a nice rich husbant ’stead of a pig like you want!”

“Goodness me, child!” exclaimed Josepha, and laughed. “Anyhow a good pig is better than some husbands, Miss!”

“Well, I’d rather have Dal than a pig—even a teeny pink one! You know I would, don’t you, Dal?”

“Eh? Oh yes,” he answered, starting. “I—I think that’s real sweet of you, Honey. Though I guess Miss Josepha’s right—a pig may be a much better proposition than some men. And now I ... I’d best be on my way.”

“Are you on a walking tour, Mr. Dallas?”

“Well ... kind of. I’m just rambling around ... looking for a job of work.”

“What sort of work?”

“Any old sort.”

“Do you understand farming?”

“Not a whole lot—but I can learn.”

“What about horses?”

“Ace high!” he nodded. “Horses are my long suit. I mean——”

“That you can ride?”

“Why, yes. Oh yes, I can ride.”

“But can you groom them, vet them?”

“Well, I once fed a pony a ball, but——”

“Do you know anything about cows?”

“I learned to rope steers—out West.”

“Can you milk?”

“Why no, but I might——”

“Do you know anything about poultry—chickens?”

“I can tell a hen from a rooster any old time.”

Josepha laughed, grew solemn and shook her head at him:

“Heavens!” she exclaimed, “you don’t sound very promising.”

“Miss Josepha,” he answered gravely. “I would sure promise you anything.”

“Don’t be rash!” she retorted. “Because if you weren’t such a rambling sort of person I might ask you——”

“No!” cried the Small Person suddenly. “You can’t ask him to be your husbant, Jodear, ’cause I went an’ found him for my ownself. ’Sides, he’s got no money, he’s not a bit rich—yet.”

“Oh ... Patience!” The Goddess gasped, ’tis true, yet frowned as Minerva might have done, then she laughed; but seeing how painfully she was flushing Dallas rose to the occasion and from his chair.

“Gee—whiz!” he exclaimed. “If I’m no farmer there is one thing I can do, Miss Josepha ... I’ll go hammer in those stakes for you if you will show me where.”

“That would be awfully kind of you,” she answered with swift look of gratitude, not altogether for his offer, perhaps. “But it must be strictly business, please. I usually pay Tom Merry sixpence an hour, but then he charges me less than the proper rate, so if——”

“Miss Dare,” said Dallas, smiling but resolute, “you fed me tea and cakes and what not and I’ll pay for it with chores.”

“Chores?” she repeated, knitting puzzled brows.

“That’s American and means a job for a meal. I’ll make my first job in Sussex fixing that fence for you and you don’t pay me a cent. So that’s—that!”

“Was them scones middlin’ fair, Miss Jo?” inquired a pleasant voice, and glancing round Dallas beheld a tall, buxom, rosy creature who stared at him, his face, his hands, his every garment from collar to boots with a pair of handsome brown eyes.

“Oh quite, Sarah.”

“An’ did the gentleman like ’em, Miss?”

“They were mighty good!” murmured Dallas, smiling.

“Which, is the gen’leman stayin’ in these parts, Miss?”

“I really don’t know, Sarah.”

“Yes,” answered Dallas decidedly, “he is.”

“Which might I ax wheer, Miss?”

“Any old place,” smiled Dallas. “The nearest hotel.”

“Which, Miss, you knows as there beant no sich things ’ereabouts, there be only inns an’ taverns.”

“Well, then, the nearest of ’em,” said Dallas, meeting Sarah’s wide stare unflinchingly.

“Which, that be the ‘Duck i’ the Pond,’ Miss.”

“Sounds kind of moist,” answered Dallas, “but it’ll suit me fine.”

“But Mary Weldon don’t like strangers at ‘The Duck’ an’ won’t tak’ the gen’leman in, p’raps.”

“Well I’ll try, anyway.”

“Which, Miss, you ain’t told me the gen’leman’s name, which me, bein’ one as have served the fambly an’ you so long an’ faithful, Miss, I rackon I oughter be told.”

“Keith!” he answered, “Dallas Keith, and I sure hope you——”

“Which, his boots, Miss, beant a gen’leman’s boots!”

“And that’s right, too!” he admitted, shaking his head at the articles in question. “But what about me ... my dial—I mean this thing that does for my face?” And here he smiled with flash of white teeth, a smile that was in his eyes also, indeed a smile so boyish, so frank and winning that Sarah’s grim yet rosy mouth quivered and she nodded slightly.

“Strange gen’lemen beant welcome round ’ereabouts,” said she, “but, Miss, I thinks if I was to say a word Mary Weldon might tak’ ’im in—so by your leave I’ll step over an’ say it.” With which Sarah vanished as suddenly as she had appeared.

“Holy smoke!” quoth Dallas, drawing a deep breath, “next to the Third Degree that was sure some experience!”

“Sarah’s very sharp and terribly cautious, Mr. Dallas, but I think she has decided you are respectable—in spite of your boots!”

“I ... wonder?” he stammered and she was struck anew by his troubled, shrinking air. “I guess it’s up to me to make good.”

“An’ here’s my teeny kitty!” cried Patience, running in from the kitchen with a small, furry bundle in her arms. “And she’s opened one eye at me—look, Dal!”

“I hope she’s a he!” said the Goddess.

“Sarah isn’t quite sure, Jodear, but she says if ’tisn’t a her it’s bound to be a him, an’ you can stroke it if you wish, Dal.”

So, having touched the little, furry creature with one caressing finger, Dallas went forth to his labour in the garden; and here, tossing aside hat and coat and with a goddess to direct him, he took up the hammer and fell to work. And he worked well, yet with a certain deliberation, almost as if he feared ending this, his first job, too soon; thus when dusk fell, he noted with a lively satisfaction that much remained to do. The which fact seemed to impress her also for she sighed, rather despondently.

“It will be more of an undertaking than I thought!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he answered, reassuringly, “if we stick to it all day to-morrow we will have the posts fixed by evening.”

“But,” she answered dubiously, “I can’t expect you to work for me without——”

“Next day,” said he, a little hastily, “we’ll fix the wire.”

“Oh, that’s a dreadful job,” she sighed, “wire is so beastly to manage—so scratchy and springy. I was going to leave that for Tom Merry.”

“Then we’ll count him out of this, for, Miss Dare, sticking up wire is where I shine.”

“I’m wondering!” said she, glancing at his carefully tended hands. “Have you ever tried nailing up wire?”

“And that dog-kennel,” he went on, gesturing towards an odd-shaped structure that stood a little crookedly beneath an adjacent tree, “that dog-kennel would do with a nail or so.”

“Mr. Dallas,” said she, frowning at him, “that ‘dog-kennel’ is a chicken-coop, or meant to be. I ... I made it myself.”

“Sure!” he nodded, “my mistake,” but she saw his mouth quiver.

“Is it so awful?” she inquired, suddenly wistful.

“Miss Dare,” he answered gravely. “It just makes me yearn to be a chicken.”

At this she laughed a little ruefully, and approaching her handiwork, stood to frown at it.

“I suppose it does look rather queer,” she sighed, “but it answers well enough, and then I had to make it out of odd pieces of wood; you see timber is so fearfully expensive! And I smashed the end of my poor finger doing it ... you can still see the mark——”

“Can I?” said he gently. “Thanks!” and, almost before she was aware, had taken her hand, firmly yet reverently and lifting it, bowed his head; to be sure the light was growing dim, and yet——

“Ooh!” cried a voice unexpectedly near, “what’s Dal kissing your hand for Jodear?”

“He isn’t!” answered the Goddess tranquilly. “And it’s time you were in bed, my Patience.”

“Yes, I know,” sighed the Small Personage regretfully, “that’s why I came to wish Dal good-night, an’ mind you come an’ tuck me up.”

“Of course I will—do I ever forget, dear?”

“Well no, but you might, and then if I died in my sleep you’d be awful’ sorry—an’ so should I.... Good-night, Dal, an’ please do grow rich soon.”

“I’ll do my best, Honey. Good night and sweet dreams——” Then Dallas caught his breath as up towards him reached two small, imperious arms.

“Well, aren’t you going to kiss me good-night?” she demanded. So down he sank on one knee to fold the child in tender arms, to feel the touch of her little hands upon his neck, his bowed head.

“God bless you, Honey!” he murmured and, loosing her suddenly, rose.

“God bless you, too, Dal,” she nodded and, waving her hand, sped away bedwards.

“She’s a sweet ... a wonderful ... kiddy!” he murmured, gazing after her. “She’s sure my little good-angel!”

“Oh—why?”

“Well, for one thing she brought me to ... my first job.”

“Which isn’t finished, Mr. Dallas.”

“True enough!” said he with sudden cheeriness. “There’s always to-morrow, isn’t there?”

“Yes,” she answered softly, “and to-morrow is always going to be better than to-day. To-morrow is always going to bless us—Somehow! Yes there is always another day.”

“Now that’s certainly a great thought!” he exclaimed. “Another day, I’ll sure remember that!” Here he crossed to the little wicket-gate that opened upon the narrow, shady lane. “Good night, Miss Dare, and believe me I’m mighty grateful.”

“Good-night, Mr. Dallas. And what for?”

Here he stepped into the lane, closing the gate with the utmost care.

“Well,” he answered, making sure the gate was latched, “for ... for ...”

“Tea?” she inquired, gently.

“And taking me on trust.... What time shall I come round to-morrow?”

“Well,” she answered, leaning gracefully upon the gate, “it’s quite light these mornings at—four o’clock.”

“Four?” he repeated. “Four o’clock? Why sure, I’ll be here.”

“Though nine o’clock will be quite early enough and—but where are you going to stay to-night?”

“Well, say now, I’d clean forgotten. But any old place will do for me, a——” But, at this moment Sarah loomed upon them through the fragrant dusk; quoth she:

“Which, Miss, I’ve been a-wonderin’ if he’d remember. ... And that motherless child waitin’ to be tucked up!” Then as her young mistress turned and sped away Sarah addressed herself directly to Dallas for the first time, staring at him very hard the while.

“Which Mary Weldon says, young man, as if you don’t mind the little room over the bar, she’ll tak’ you in.”

“The little room’ll suit me fine,” he answered heartily. “And Sarah I—I’m glad, I’m mighty glad she’s got you to ... to look after her.”

“Meanin’ Mary Weldon, young man?”

“No no, Miss Dare ... and the child, of course. She seems lonesome, kind of——”

“Well, she beant, not nohow. And she can take care of herself, I rackon—’specially wi’ me to look arter her.”

“That’s what I meant,” he answered, with his quick, bright smile. “Good night, Sarah, and thank you.”

“Good night,” she answered, peering into his comely face with her fine, sharp eyes. “Good night young ... sir.”

And even as he smiled, so smiled she, and nodded buxom head as she watched his tall, lithe figure stride away down the darkening lane.