EXIT MANUEL.
During the last few days there had been great changes in the interior
of the manse. The worn-out matting was renewed, and the squatter
spider expelled from the corner where he had long revelled in
security. The tumble-down sofa was condemned, and a comfortable lounge
took its place. Everywhere there was a look of freshness. All day long
there was the sound of hammering and cleaning up. Halsa and Mrs. Bunny
personally superintended the reformation. Galbraith was willing enough
to help, but he had no "hands," and was therefore relegated to his
study. But with Manuel it was different. For the first time in his
life Manuel realized what work was, and he was profoundly convinced
that he and true labour would never agree. It was not enough that he
had been called upon to clean and scrub, to hew wood and draw water,
but insult was added to injury by Mrs. Bunny inquiring into the
arrangements of the _menage_.
"Two bags of sugar a month!" said that excellent woman, holding up her
hands in despair; "why, if it were all used, the man must be a
lollipop shop inside."
"Who keeps the keys?" asked Halsa. She was halfway up a ladder, a
small hammer in her hand. Manuel stood at the foot of the ladder
holding it firmly with one hand, so that it should not slip, while
with the other he held out at arm's length a plate full of tin tacks.
The position was strained and unpleasant. "Who keeps the keys? Oh!"
she shrieked, "how sharp those nails are!" and she drew back her
fingers smartly and began to examine their tips. To one of them a tack
was clinging. Halsa hastily descended, and Mrs. Bunny removed the
offending tack. It left a small blue mark on the finger tip. In the
meanwhile Manuel remained silent. He had no intention of replying to
the question, and his yellow eyes glistened with pleasure at the
little accident, which had apparently called away attention from an
embarrassing inquiry. But Manuel was mistaken, for when Halsa had
examined the mark for a moment, and was satisfied that it was only a
prick, she returned again to the charge and repeated her question.
"I keep keys," replied Manuel sulkily.
"I told you so, Halsa," said Mrs. Bunny, waving a damp duster in the
air. Mrs. Bunny had not mentioned the fact, but it was a little
weakness of hers to refer to former prophecies after a thing had
happened.
"Never mind," Halsa said, "you couldn't expect John to look after
these things." There was a sense of proprietorship in her tone that
was delightful to Galbraith, who had come in to see how things were
going on, and had been an unobserved witness of the scene. Halsa was
looking very pretty. Her arms were bare up to the elbows, and there
was a bright flush on her cheeks. The brown hair, usually neatly
braided, had become a little disarranged, and curled in an unruly
manner over her forehead. Mrs. Bunny suddenly remembered that there
was something to do in the study, and Manuel, ever watchful for an
opportunity to escape, laid down the plate of tacks and vanished
noiselessly. Galbraith glanced round him, and then his arm stole
forth. Halsa avoided the caress by stepping back, and asked him how he
thought the room looked.
"I never thought it could look so well," he replied, and he spoke
truly. The magic of feminine hands had changed the cheerless-looking
room into a bright, cosy chamber. It was not that the things were
valuable; fifty pounds might have covered the cost of everything,
except the American harmonium, which stood where the fireplace ought
to have been. All the effect lay in the nameless power of arrangement
which only a woman possesses--a touch here--a touch there--and the
thing is done.
"I am glad you like it," said Halsa, as she stepped nearer to
Galbraith. "See how I've hurt my finger;" and she held the wounded
member up for inspection.
John took the small hand in his, and looked at the blue mark on her
finger tip. It was hardly perceptible. The shadow of a smile flickered
across his face as he kissed the little fingers tenderly, and then,
drawing Halsa closer to him, kissed her once more on the lips--she
nothing resisting now.
Mrs. Bunny's discreet cough in the next room warned them of her
impending return, and when the good lady came in Halsa had once more
mounted the ladder. When she had finished her work she came down, and
they all took a final survey of their labour, and were pleased by it.
Then Manuel was recalled from the back of the house, where he was
employed in solacing his feelings with a native cigarette, and cursing
his existence in the _patois_ of Goa.
A few orders were given to him with regard to clearing up some
_debris_, and then the party, including Galbraith, went into the hall,
where the ladies put on their hats, and, escorted by the pastor,
returned home. The whole home party of the Bunnys, except Eddy, were
to dine at the manse that night with Galbraith, and he was nervously
anxious about the success of the entertainment.
Manuel watched them as they went down the road. He shook his fist
after the retreating figures.
"Oh, yes!" he said, "Manuel this and Manuel that--Manuel light
fire--light lamps--clean house--make fuss-class dinner--Sancta Maria!
what Manuel not do!--Iyoo!" He crossed himself fervently, and went
on--"Missus come--missus want keep keys--Manuel not a dog--Jesu!" he
exclaimed, "there is that accursed goat among the new flowers." He
hastened out of the door, drove the milch goat to the back of the
house, and fastened her up securely.
Then, coming back, he conscientiously carried out the final
instructions given him--picking up the litter of cotton and tags of
hangings which lay on the floor, and when this was over made his way
to the kitchen, where he exercised all his skill in superintending the
preparation of a "fuss-class dinner."
Two things were a matter of regret to him: one that he was not
sufficiently skilled to write out a _menu_ card, but this he hoped to
arrange with the assistance of Pedro Pinto's son, who attended the
school attached to the monastery of St. Vincent de Paul; the other was
that there were to be no wines, for both host and guests were
teetotallers, and the drinking of wine or spirits in any form, unless
medicinally prescribed, was regarded as a deadly sin.
Galbraith came out of his study a little before dinner-time to see how
things were. Manuel was not there, and it seemed as if some unseen
hand had set the table, had arranged that oddly pretty pattern of
leaves on the snowy table-cloth, and placed that bouquet of fresh
fuchsias beside the plate where Halsa was to sit.
Galbraith himself looked years younger. He glanced about him with a
satisfied air, and then going back into his study, waited impatiently
for the sound of wheels to tell him that his guests had come. Punctual
to the moment Mr. Bunny's brownberry came up. Galbraith stepped up to
the door of the carriage, and helped out Mrs. Bunny and Halsa, the
latter giving his hand a little squeeze. Mr. Bunny emerged last of
all, a pile of wraps on his arm, and, after directing the coachman to
return at precisely ten o'clock, followed his wife and Halsa Lamport
into the house. They all assembled in the cosy little parlour, and in
a few minutes Manuel came in. He whispered something to Galbraith, and
then slipped out again. He had conveyed thus mysteriously the
announcement that dinner was ready. They all went in without any
ceremony; the ladies first, the men behind. Grace was, of course,
said, but Galbraith took care that it should not be unnecessarily
long. The dinner was excellent, and full justice was done to the meal.
Manuel attempted to make up for the want of a written _menu_, that
picaroon boy of Pinto's not having come to write it as arranged, by
calling out the names of the dishes.
"Krab cutlit, sar," he said, as he thrust the delicacy before Mr.
Bunny. "Prong curry, madam--berry good," and he held the dish for Mrs.
Bunny. Galbraith, however, interfered, much to Manuel's
disappointment. He made up, however, for this by the air with which he
filled the tumblers with water--the grand butler serving Louis
Quatorze could not have done it with a better manner. At last it was
all over; Mr. Bunny ate his last walnut, and washed it with a better
manner. At last it was all and played patience; then there was a
little talking, and precisely at ten the carriage came. Mr. Bunny
could not be induced to stay a moment later. There was much
hand-shaking, and a kiss for Halsa, soberly given in the Bunnys'
presence by Galbraith, and received by the widow with becoming
modesty. When they had gone Galbraith lit a pipe, and, opening an old
volume of Ingram, set himself out for an hour's read. He was
interrupted by a cough, and, looking up, saw Manuel in front of him.
Manuel shifted a clean white napkin from one hand to another, and
asked, "Dinner good, sar----yyerything praper?"
"Yes, indeed, Manuel; I am very much pleased with you."
"Thank you, sar," and Manuel bowed; "but, sar, I come for leave."
"Leave, Manuel?--do you mean to say you want to go?"
"Yessar--missus come, and yverything spile--missus keep keys--missus
take account--missus measure out sugar--tea--work too much. My mother
also dead in Goa, and I want leave."
Galbraith looked at him. "But I will increase your pay."
"No, sar; all pay same like to Manuel when in service, but when missus
come--I no stay. My mother berry ill."
Galbraith smiled. "I thought your mother was dead," he said; "but it
does not matter, you can go."
Manuel bowed again, and retired.