Читать книгу The Lucky Number - Major General John Hay Beith - Страница 12

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A tramp opened the Rectory gate and shambled up the neat gravel walk towards the house. Taking a short cut through the shrubbery he emerged suddenly upon a little lawn.

Upon the lawn a lady was sitting in a basket-chair, beside a perambulator, whose occupant was slumbering peacefully. A small but intensely capable nursemaid, prone upon the grass in a curvilinear attitude, was acting as a tunnel to a young gentleman of three who was impersonating a railway-train.

The tramp approached the group and asked huskily for alms. He was a burly and unpleasant specimen of his class—a class all too numerous on the outskirts of the great industrial parish of Smeltingborough.

The lady in the basket-chair looked up.

“The Rector is out,” she said. “If you will go into the town you will find him at the Church Hall, and he will investigate your case.”

“Oh, the Rector is out, is he?” repeated the tramp, in tones of distinct satisfaction.

“Yes,” said Eileen.

The tramp advanced another pace.

“Give us half a crown,” he said. “I haven’t had a bite of food since yesterday, lady. Nor a drink neither,” he added humorously.

“Please go away,” said the lady. “You know where to find the Rector.”

The tramp smiled unpleasantly, but made no attempt to move.

The railway-tunnel rose abruptly to its feet, and remarked with asperity:

“Now then, pop off!”

Even this had no effect. The lady looked up again.

“You refuse to go away?” she said.

“I’ll go for half a crown,” replied the tramp, with the gracious air of one anxious to oblige a lady.

“Watch baby for a moment, Mary Ellen,” said Eileen.

She rose, and disappeared into the house, followed by the gratified smile of the tramp. He was a reasonable man, and knew that ladies do not wear pockets.

“Thirsty weather,” he remarked affably.

Mary Ellen, keeping one hand upon the shoulder of Master Gerald Caversham Gilmore and the other upon the edge of the baby’s perambulator, merely chuckled sardonically.

Next moment there came the sound of footsteps round the corner of the house, and Eileen reappeared. She was clinging with both hands to the collar of an enormous dog. Its tongue lolled from its great jaws, its tail waved menacingly from side to side; its mighty limbs were bent, as if for a spring. Its eyes were half closed, as if to focus the exact distance.

“Run!” cried Eileen to the tramp. “I can’t hold him in much longer!”

This was true enough, except that when Eileen said “in” she meant “up.”

But the tramp did not linger to discuss prepositions. There was a scurry of feet; the gate banged; and he was gone.

With a sigh of relief Eileen let go of Excalibur’s collar. Excalibur promptly collapsed upon the grass and went to sleep again.