by W. W. Jacobs
andcompany.
"She's doing it on purpose," said Mr. Smithson, fiercely; "she's bindingyou hand and foot."
Mr. Clarkson assented gloomily. "I'm trusting to you, George," heremarked.
"How'd it be to forget to water the geraniums and let the birds diebecause they missed her so much?" suggested Mr. Smithson, afterprolonged thought.
Mr. Clarkson shivered.
"It would be a hint," said his friend.
Mr. Clarkson took some letters from the mantelpiece and held them up."She writes about them every day," he said, briefly, "and I have toanswer them."
"She--she don't refer to your getting married, I suppose?" said hisfriend, anxiously.
Mr. Clarkson said "No. But her sister does," he added. "I've had twoletters from her."
Mr. Smithson got up and paced restlessly up and down the room. "That'swomen all over," he said, bitterly. "They never ask for things straightout; but they always get 'em in roundabout ways. She can't do itherself, so she gets her sister to do it."
Mr. Clarkson groaned. "And her sister is hinting that she can't leavethe house where she spent so many happy years," he said, "and says what apleasant surprise it would be for Mrs. Phipps if she was to come home andfind it done up."
"That means you've got to live there when you're married," said hisfriend, solemnly.
Mr. Clarkson glanced round his comfortable room and groaned again. "Sheasked me to get an estimate from Digson," he said, dully. "She knows aswell as I do her sister hasn't got any money. I wrote to say that it hadbetter be left till she comes home, as I might not know what was wanted."
Mr. Smithson nodded approval.
"And Mrs. Phipps wrote herself and thanked me for being so considerate,"continued his friend, grimly, "and says that when she comes back we mustgo over the house together and see what wants doing."
Mr. Smithson got up and walked round the room again.
"You never promised to marry her?" he said, stopping suddenly.
"No," said the other. "It's all been arranged for me. I never said aword. I couldn't tell Phipps I wouldn't have her with them all standinground, and him thinking he was doing me the greatest favour in theworld."
"Well, she can't name the day unless you ask her," said the other. "Allyou've got to do is to keep quiet and not commit yourself. Be as cool asyou can, and, just before she comes home, you go off to London onbusiness and stay there as long as possible."
Mr. Clarkson carried out his instructions to the letter, and Mrs. Phipps,returning home at the end of her visit, learned that he had left forLondon three days before, leaving the geraniums and birds to the care ofMr. Smithson. From the hands of that unjust steward she received twoempty bird-cages, together with a detailed account of the manner in whichthe occupants had effected their escape, and a bullfinch that seemed tobe suffering from torpid liver. The condition of the geraniums wasascribed to worms in the pots, frost, and premature decay.
"They go like it sometimes," said Mr. Smithson, "and when they do nothingwill save 'em."
Mrs. Phipps thanked him. "It's very kind of you to take so muchtrouble," she said, quietly; "some people would have lost the cages toowhile they were about it."
"I did my best," said Mr. Smithson, in a surly voice.
"I know you did," said Mrs. Phipps, thoughtfully, "and I am sure I ammuch obliged to you. If there is anything of yours I can look after atany time I shall be only too pleased. When did you say Mr. Clarkson wascoming back?"
"He don't know," said Mr. Smithson, promptly. "He might be away a month;and then, again, he might be away six. It all depends. You know whatbusiness is."
"It's very thoughtful of him," said Mrs. Phipps. "Very."
"Thoughtful!" repeated Mr. Smithson.
"He has gone away for a time out of consideration for me," said thewidow. "As things are, it is a little bit awkward for us to meet much atpresent."
"I don't think he's gone away for that at all," said the other, bluntly.
Mrs. Phipps shook her head. "Ah, you don't know him as well as I do,"she said, fondly. "He has gone away on my account, I feel sure."
Mr. Smithson screwed his lips together and remained silent.
"When he feels that it is right and proper for him to come back," pursuedMrs. Phipps, turning her eyes upwards, "he will come. He has left hiscomfortable home just for my sake, and I shall not forget it."
Mr. Smithson coughed-a short, dry cough, meant to convey incredulity.
"I shall not do anything to this house till he comes back," said Mrs.Phipps. "I expect he would like to have a voice in it. He always usedto admire it and say how comfortable it was. Well, well, we never knowwhat is before us."
Mr. Smithson repeated the substance of the interview to Mr. Clarkson byletter, and in the lengthy correspondence that followed kept him postedas to the movements of Mrs. Phipps. By dint of warnings and entreatieshe kept the bridegroom-elect in London for three months. By that timeLittle Molton was beginning to talk.
"They're beginning to see how the land lays," said Mr. Smithson, on theevening of his friend's return, "and if you keep quiet and do as I tellyou she'll begin to see it too. As I said before, she can't name the daytill you ask her."
Mr. Clarkson agreed, and the following morning, when he called upon Mrs.Phipps at her request, his manner was so distant that she attributed itto ill-health following business worries and the atmosphere of London.In the front parlour Mr. Digson, a small builder and contractor, was busywhitewashing.
"I thought we might as well get on with that," said Mrs. Phipps; "thereis only one way of doing whitewashing, and the room has got to be done.To-morrow Mr. Digson will bring up some papers, and, if you'll comeround, you can help me choose."
Mr. Clarkson hesitated. "Why not choose 'em yourself?" he said at last.
"Just what I told her," said Mr. Digson, stroking his black beard."What'll please you will be sure to please him, I says; and if it don'tit ought to."
Mr. Clarkson started. "Perhaps you could help her choose," he said,sharply.
Mr. Digson came down from his perch. "Just what I said," he replied."If Mrs. Phipps will let me advise her, I'll make this house so she won'tknow it before I've done with it."
"Mr. Digson has been very kind," said Mrs. Phipps, reproachfully.
"Not at all, ma'am," said the builder, softly. "Anything I can do tomake you happy or comfortable will be a pleasure to me."
Mr. Clarkson started again, and an odd idea sent his blood dancing.Digson was a widower; Mrs. Phipps was a widow. Could anything be moresuitable or desirable?
"Better let him choose," he said. "After all, he ought to be a goodjudge."
Mrs. Phipps, after a faint protest, gave way, and Mr. Digson, smilingbroadly, mounted his perch again.
Mr. Clarkson's first idea was to consult Mr. Smithson; then he resolvedto wait upon events. The idea was fantastic to begin with, but, ifthings did take such a satisfactory turn, he could not help reflectingthat it would not be due to any efforts on the part of Mr. Smithson, andhe would no longer be under any testamentary obligations to thatenterprising gentleman.
By the end of a week he was jubilant. A child could have told Mr.Digson's intentions--and Mrs. Phipps was anything but a child. Mr.Clarkson admitted cheerfully that Mr. Digson was a younger and better-looking man than himself--a more suitable match in every way. And, sofar as he could judge, Mrs. Phipps seemed to think so. At any rate, shehad ceased to make the faintest allusion to any tie between them. Heleft her one day painting a door, while the attentive Digson guided thebrush, and walked homewards smiling.
"Morning!" said a voice behind him.
"Morning, Bignell," said Mr. Clarkson.
"When--when is it to be?" inquired his friend, walking beside him.
Mr. Clarkson frowned. "When is what to be?" he demanded, disagreeably.
Mr. Bignell lowered his voice. "You'll lose her if you ain't careful,"he said. "Mark my words. Can't you see Digson's litt
le game?"
Mr. Clarkson shrugged his shoulders.
"He's after her money," said the other, with a cautious glance around.
"Money?" said the other, with an astonished laugh. "Why, she hasn't gotany."
"She'll be riding in her carriage and pair in six months"]
"Oh, all right," said Mr. Bignell. "You know best
