Halfpenny Hole lay in the bottom of a slope seven miles from
Dilborough. Dilborough was almost the same distance from Halfpenny
Hole. Jawbones was, I think we must say, an old-world house, and had
the date 1623 carved over the doorway. Luke Sharper had carved it
himself. A little further down the road there was--there's no other
word for it--an old-world bridge with--I'm afraid we must have it once
more--an old-world stream running underneath it. It gave one the
impression that it had always been like that. Always the stream under
the bridge. Never the bridge under the stream. But now that the Garden
Settlement had come things might be very different. Houses were going
up; Mr. Doom Dagshaw's Mammoth Circus was going up; even the rates
were going up.
At the end of his honeymoon Luke Sharper went to see a man about a
dog, and left his wife to prepare Jawbones for his accommodation. She
was a good housekeeper, and Luke acknowledged it. Whenever he thought
about her at all, he always added "but she _is_ a good housekeeper."
He was desperately fair.
"This," said Mabel, opening a door, as Luke began his visit of
inspection, "this is your den."
Luke's ears moved. He kissed her twice. "But, you know, I cannot bear
it. There are some words which I am unable to endure, such as
salt-cellar, tuberculosis, tennis-net and den."
"Very well," said Mabel, a little coldly, "we'll call it your cage.
And just look. There is a pair of my father's old slippers that I have
brought for you. Size thirteen. You've got none quite like that, have
you?"
He put one arm round her waist.
"Where did you say the dustbin was?" he asked.
"But," she said amazed, "you don't mean to say----Surely you wear
slippers?"
"I never was," he replied firmly. Nor did he.
"And now," said Mabel, "come into the kitchen and see the two maids
that I have engaged. Two nice respectable sisters named Morse--Ellen
Morse and----"
"There isn't an 'l' in Morse," he said gloomily.
"And Kate Morse," Mabel continued.
She opened the door into the spotless kitchen, and the two maids
sprang instantly to attention. One of them was cleaning silver, the
other was still lingering over tea. The first was very long, and the
second very short.
Luke slapped his leg enthusiastically. "Oh, by Jove," he said, "this
is ripping. Morse. Don't you see? Dot and Dash. Dot and Dash."
He howled with laughter. Dash dropped the tea-pot. Dot had hysterics.
"I think," said Mabel, without a smile, "we had better go into the
garden."
Everything in the garden was lovely.
"Luke," said Mabel, "I did not quite like what you said in the kitchen
just now. It was just a teeny-weeny----"
"Funny, wasn't it?" said Luke. "You must admit it was funny. Seemed to
come to me all of a flash. I'll bet that nothing more amusing has been
said in this house since the day it was built. Dot and Dash! Dot and
Dash! Oh, help!"
He rolled about the path in uncontrollable laughter.
Mabel looked sadder and sadder. He said that made it all the funnier,
and laughed more.
After dinner he wrote the joke out carefully. It seemed a pity that
_Punch_ should not have it. Mabel yawned, and said she would go up to
bed.
"Tired?" asked Luke.
"A little. There's something about you, Luke, that makes one feel
tired. By the way, did you ever know Mr. Mark Sabre?"
"God forbid--I mean, no."
"Well, he called one of his maids High Jinks and the other Low, but it
turned out later in the story that the one that was first Low became
High, while High became Low. I thought I'd just mention it to you as a
warning."
"Right-o. I'll be very careful. I may as well come up to bed myself.
The editor of _Punch_ will be a happy man to-morrow morning."
At intervals that night Mabel was awakened by screams of laughter.
Once she enquired what the cause was.
"Dot and Dash," he replied, chuckling. "Too good for words! Oh, can't
you see it?"
"Good-night again," said Mabel.
On the following night, when he returned from business, Mabel met him
in the hall.
"Darling," she said, "we've had trouble with the sink in the
scullery."
"What did you do about it?"
"I sent for the plumber. He seemed such a nice, intelligent man."
"Have you kept him to dine with us?"
"No. Why on earth should I? He had a glass of beer in the kitchen."
"People dine with me sometimes," said Luke, "who are neither nice nor
intelligent. Oh, can't you see, Mabel, that we are all equal in the
sight of Heaven?"
"Yes," said Mabel, "but you're not in sight of Heaven--not by a long
way. I don't suppose you ever will be. Besides, if he had stayed, the
dinner could not have gone on."
Luke's ears twitched convulsively. "I can't see that," he said. "It is
unthinkable. How can you say that?"
"Well," said Mabel, "one of the vegetables we are to eat to-night
happens to be leeks. And, of course, he, being a plumber, would have
stopped them."
Luke did not swear. He simply went up to his bedroom in silence. There
he began ticking certain subjects off on his finger. Number One, Den.
Number Two, Slippers. Number Three, Dot and Dash. Number Four,
Plumber. She would never see. She would never understand. And he was
married to it. He put up both hands and pushed his ears back into
position.
(I had fully intended to divide this chapter into sections and to
number them in plain figures. Careless of me. Thoughtless. Have a shot
at it in the next chapter? I think so. Yes, almost ...)