"I don't like it, and I mean to find it out," said Joe, scratching his
head on one side. "And if I find as there be anything going on twix'
new squire and she, why I'll--"
Joe Chegg did not say what he would do, but raised the other hand to
give his head a good scratch on the far side.
He then paused in his work to stand and examine it, his mind wandering
amid the flowers which hung in wreaths; and these wreaths of brilliant
hues naturally associated themselves with Dally Watlock, the young lady
who had made a very deep impression, and was now causing the young man
great uneasiness of spirit.
Joe Chegg was the universal genius of Duke's Hampton, and was ready to
turn his hand to anything. Did a neighbour's saucepan leak, Joe said it
was a pity to send it over to the town, when maybe he would set it right
by clumsily melting a dab of solder over the hole. Did Mrs Berens'
gate want mending, Joe Chegg would bring up a hammer and nails and
armour-clothe the woodwork with the amount of iron he attached. He was
great upon locks. As a rule they did not lock much when he had attacked
them; but Joe generally got the credit of having done them good.
He worked in iron and in lead, but he was more wooden than anything
else, and delighted in having an opportunity to use a saw.
Nothing, however, pleased him better than being sent for at times to do
up the Rectory or Mrs Berens' garden, where he would in one day do more
mischief to flower and vegetable than an ordinary jobbing gardener would
achieve in three: and if it were the time of year when he had an
opportunity to prune, why, then the poor trees had a holiday, for they
had neither flower nor fruit to carry for the next two or three seasons.
On the present occasion, Mrs Berens had found half-a-dozen rolls of
paper-hanging of one pattern stored away in the attic, and had decided
to have a small room papered therewith.
Now, being a sensitive lady with but little knowledge of human nature,
in her ignorance of the fact that the party appealed to would have come
at once and made a good job of it for Mrs Berens and himself, this lady
now felt that the King's Hampton painter would not care to come and
paper her room as she had not purchased the paper of him, so Joe Chegg
was thought of, and set to work.
It had taken him a long time to begin, for he had to make his own paste.
Then while the paste was cooling, he had to fetch his scissors, and it
was while fetching these that he had seen, given chase to, and missed
Dally Watlock.
He had returned to his work and trimmed the rolls of paper, frowning
very severely the while.
That took him to dinner-time, with the paper suggesting Dally at every
turn. It rustled like Dally's clothes did when she whisked round; the
selvage he cut off ran up into curls like Dally's hair; it smelt like
Dally--a peculiarly fresh, soapy odour; it suggested a snug cottage that
he would paper with his own hands; and then, too, the pattern--how he
would like to buy Dally a dress like that.
After dinner the paper still suggested Dally so much, as aforesaid, with
its wreaths and flowers that as Joe Chegg worked away he had slowly
achieved to the hanging of three pieces, when Mrs Berens, all silk and
scent and lace, rustled into the room to see how he was getting on.
"Why, Joe," she exclaimed; "you've hung it upside down!"
It was no wonder, for ever since he had seen Dally that morning, Joe
Chegg had been upside down.
He did not, like Mr Sullivan's immortalised British workman, say,
"It'll be all right when it's dry," but looked sheepish, and stared hard
at the paper, to see that the roses were all hanging their heads, and
the stems pointing straight up.
"Upside down, ma'am?" he said, with a feeble smile.
"Yes, Joe; and you a gardener. Now, did you ever see flowers grow like
that?"
"When they've come unnailed, ma'am," said Joe, with a happy thought.
"Nonsense, man! It looks ridiculous."
"Shall I peel it off, ma'am?"
"No; absurd! You must paper all over that again. It's just so much
waste of paper-hanging. There, don't stare, man, but go on."
Mrs Berens was rather cross, and she snubbed Joe Chegg in a way that
brought tears to the young man's eyes, which he concealed by stooping
over the paste pail, and slopping about the contents so vigorously that
Mrs Berens, in dread for her garments, hastily beat a retreat.
"It's of no good," said Joe Chegg, "a man can't hang paper properly when
he's in love; and when he's crossed and crissed and bothered as I am, he
feels a deal more fit to hang himself. I'll go and do it!"
This expression of a determination, however, alluded to something in Joe
Chegg's mind which had nothing whatever to do with what lawyers term in
legal language _sus per col_. He had made certain plans in his own
head, and the cogitating over these had resulted in Mrs Berens'
paper-hangings being upside down; and for the furtherance of these plans
he packed up his work for the day, went down into the kitchen, where he
announced to the maids that he was going to fetch his tools, and then
started off home.
That night Joe Chegg behaved furtively. He waited until it was dusk,
and then went out cautiously as a conspirator, as he thought, but made
enough noise to put any one upon his guard, while he felt satisfied
himself that his secrecy and care were surprising.
"She can't deceive me," he said to himself with a satisfied grin, and,
going along by fence-side and hedge, he placed himself in a position to
watch, which would not have deceived a child.
The place he chose was opposite the sexton's, where he waited till
Moredock came out, somewhere about the time when other people went to
bed.
Joe Chegg hailed this as a sign that the coast would be clear, and Dally
Watlock soon make her appearance to keep an appointment, for he had good
reason to believe that she did meet somebody, and it was to have a
certain proof that he was there.
But the hours wore on, and no Dally made her appearance, and Joe Chegg's
hands went very far down into his pockets, and his forehead grew deeply
knit.
Volume 2, Chapter VIII.