Читать книгу The Road - Warwick Deeping - Страница 9

Table of Contents

Mrs. Robinia made gestures as of throwing up her hands.

“Well—really! It’s beyond me—— Who’s to——”

Her daughters had bought the car through Mr. Tanrock, the fair boy with the shy eyes whose father owned Tanrock’s Garage at Lignor. A bargain, certainly, thirty pounds, and with more than six month’s insurance to run. Four years old! Did it look older? Yes, the front wings were a bit dissipated. But Fred had overhauled the machine; everything was O.K.; the tyres would do another three thousand miles.

The two young men lit cigarettes and strolled across to the bridge, figures of self-conscious superfluity. The old lady was not taking it well, and young Tanrock was feeling a little guilty.

“I’m in the soup over this.”

Shelp, hunching shoulders of an arrogant bulkiness over the bridge wall, pushed his hat back and laughed. He was the sort of man who wore grey flannel trousers that were too loose everywhere, and whose coat wrinkled over his fat back. He had a truculence of neck and chin, eyes of a sensual brownness—insolent eyes. His laugh had no sense of fun in it.

“O, they’ll twist the old woman’s tail.”

But Mrs. Binnie’s tail was still erect, if tremulous. Really! Bringing home a thing like this, a wretched little tin pan! Who was to pay for it? What, it had been paid for? Out of their allowances? Well, really! And the accumulated twopenny tips! But who was to pay for the petrol and the tax and the tyres?

“O, don’t fuss, old thing. It’s not going to cost you a penny.”

“Well—really! When we want every penny in the business.”

Rhoda reasoned with her mother as she would have reasoned with a fractious and excited child.

“We want it for the winter. We can’t be stuck here, mater, like a couple—of—O—well—never mind. We want some sort of show.”

“Rushing off to Brighton, I suppose?”

“Exactly.”

Mr. Prodgers, also feeling superfluous, had slipped back into the Mill House to finish his tea. He could appreciate both sides of the question. The world on wheels, and poor Mrs. Binnie mending table-cloths. Of course!

And then she joined him. She shut the door with an agitated bang. She was in tears.

“Sam, I’m—I’m beaten.”

She subsided in a chair.

“O, nonsense—Binnie——”

“As if I didn’t want them to have things—— Of course—I do. But going off like that, and not telling me. No sense of responsibility. Just—recklessness. I won’t have the car here—— I——”

Mr. Prodgers went up and patted her shoulder.

“Easy—Binnie. O—yes—you will. They must have their show, you know. They work for it, don’t they?”

“But—Sam—more expense. I’m trying so hard to save.”

“I know. Youth—spends—my dear. Hallo——”

He saw a face in the doorway, Rachel’s. They exchanged glances, smiles of meaning.

“Mumsie—we want you to come for the first drive. The boys are going to walk back.”

Mrs. Binnie rocked in her chair.

“Never——”

“O, yes, do. You don’t get out enough. We won’t go fast, just up to Hook Hill and back.”

“But who’s to look after the house?”

Mr. Prodgers patted her shoulder.

“Go on, Binnie, move with the times. I’ll stay here till you all come back.”