Читать книгу Old Pybus - Warwick Deeping - Страница 35

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Sally Summerscales, coming in to scrub the Venerable’s kitchen floor for him, while the Venerable shaved himself before a little mirror hung by the garden window, made conversation through the doorway. Sally on her knees was the Sally of symbolism.

“Your young gentleman been to see you again, Mr. Pybus?”

No, he hadn’t, not since last Thursday, but Mr. Pybus was expecting him. Sally, flopping down a wet cloth on the red tiles, straightened on her knees.

“He’s got such lovely eyes.”

Lovely eyes indeed! Sally was incorrigible. And Mr. Pybus nicked his chin with his razor.

“What do you know about his eyes?”

“Only just passed him in the yard, that’s all. What’s his name, Mr. Pybus?”

“I don’t know.”

“What, you don’t know his name?”

“I don’t.”

“Well—I’m blowed. You’re kidding.”

“I’m telling you the truth.”

“Where’s he come from, Mr. Pybus?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“Go on, you can’t tell me you don’t know his name or where he comes from. And he’s been here four times.”

“Counted them, have you?”

“No—I haven’t. I was told.”

“Well—you can take it from me, Sally, that I have told you the truth—though it is no business of yours, my dear.”

There were splashings and scrubbings, and the Venerable, having washed the remains of the lather from his face, was applying a small pad of cotton-wool to the cut on his chin. He made allowances for Sally, for when a young woman comes in of her own free will to scrub your floor—and more especially so in these days when service is called slavery—she is entitled to her graciousness.

“Mr Pybus——”

“Hallo——”

“I’ve just had a sort of idea.”

“Splendid. What’s the idea, Sally?”

“You haven’t noticed it—I suppose?”

“I haven’t seen it yet.”

“What?”

“Your idea.”

“O, don’t be such a quizz, Mr. Pybus. I suppose you haven’t noticed that the young gentleman’s eyes are awful like yours.”

The Venerable was looking at himself in the mirror. Sally heard him give a queer little laugh.

“I gather that’s a compliment, Sally.”

“It’s a fact, Mr. Pybus. You look at him next time.”

“I will.”

John Pybus was putting on his collar; he was very particular about his collars. As for his young friend’s eyes, of course he had noticed them; you could not exchange a dozen words with Lance without being aware of those eyes and of the spirit behind them. And old Pybus had thought—“Now, if I had had a son like that.”